Columbia  iteitei#itp 

intl)t€ityt$Mmf$xk 

THE  LIBRARIES 


JOHN  RANDOLPH, 


■ 


AND  OTHER 


SKETCHES    OF    CHARACTER, 


INCLUDING 


WILLIAM    WIRT. 

TOGETHER  WITH 

TALES  OF  REAL  LIFE. 
BY  F.  W.  THOMAS, 

AUTHOR   OF    "CLINTON    BRADSHAW,"    ETC, 


PHILADELPHIA: 
A.  HART,  late  CAREY  AND  HART. 


Entered  according  to  tl  e  A.<  I  oJ  I  longress,  la  the  year  1858,  by 
A.  HART, 

in  the  Office  of  the  Olorh  of  the  Dl  fcrid  0<  art  of  the  United  States  In  and 

for  tin'  Eo  ti  mi  i'i  i ■  ■  i.  of  J '«■: 1 1 1  j Lvania. 


ii :  1 1>.\  i)  i:  i.i'ii  i  \ : 
T.    K.   AND  l'    0.  OOLLINS,   PIU  H  ERS 


3  ii  zj  r  r  i  li  r  ir 

'i  <  >  n  i ; ; 

HONORABLE  EDWARD  EVERETT, 

Of 

MASSAC  I!  US  ETTS, 

IN  BB8PBGT  FOB  BIS  LOTS  01  LITBBATl  KB; 

ins  ENLARGED  STATESMANSHIP ; 

HIS  ARDENT  PATBI0TI8M,  AND  HIS  STAINLESS  OHABAOTBB. 


253385 


PEEFACE. 


These  sketches  of  character,  tales,  &c,  were 
written  as  the  occasions  presented  themselves. 

In  some  instances  they  were  published  at  the 
time,  and  in  others  they  were  retained  in  MS.,  with 
the  view  to  a  publication  like  this.  Part  of  the 
article  on  the  "  Development  of  Mind  and  Cha- 
racter," is  taken  from  an  address  delivered  before 
the  Miami  University,  of  Ohio. 

The  differences  made  by  dates,  and  particularly 
by  deaths,  the  reader  will  detect  in  more  than  one 
instance.  They  are  occurring  as  the  proof-sheets 
pass  through  the  press.  For  instance,  Judge  Bur- 
net, of  Cincinnati,  who,  in  the  sketch  of  John  Ran- 
dolph, is  mentioned  as  among  the  living,  is  num- 
bered, as  I  write  this  preface,  with  the  dead.  He 
reached  an  advanced  age,  full  of  honors,  and  he 
possessed  one  of  the   brightest  intellects  in  the 


VI  PREFACE. 

whole  West.  The  second  bust,  I  believe,  that 
Powers  ever  moulded,  was  of  this  gentleman,  and  it 
is  as  life-like  a  presentment  as  I  have  ever  seen. 
But  the  author  merely  meant  to  say  that  these 
papers  are  presented  to  the  reader  as  they  were 
written,  when  his  mind  impelled  him  to  the  task; 
and  he  would  express  the  hope  that  they  may  in- 
terest innocently  whatever  time  may  be  bestowed 
upon  their  perusal. 


CONTENTS. 


John  Randolph,  of  Roanoke 

William  Wirt     .... 

Rev.  Henry  B.  Bascom 

A  Visit  to  Simon  Kenton,  the  last  of  the 

Old  Nat.    A  Fact 

"Old  Kentuck."    A  True  Story 

A  Frolic  among  the  Lawyers 

The  Missionary's  Convert 

My  Aunt  Betsy  .... 

Mary  M'Intyre  has  arrived 

The  Unsummoned  Witness 

Life  in  Washington    . 

Life  in  Washington — Continued 

The  Development  of  Mind  and  Characte 


Pioneer; 


raye 

33 

47 

60 

83 

120 

133 

177 

215 

232 

247 

282 

290 

298 


Vlll 


CONTENTS. 


A  Chapter  of  Accidents;  The  Authoress  of 
"Constancy"         .         .        . 


The  Late  Charles  Hammond,  of  Cincinnati 
Changes  in  our  Cities         .... 
Shobal  Vail  Clevenger,  the  Sculptor 

Powell,  the  Artist 

Death  of  Mr.  Webster       .... 


Page 

,  327 
342 
349 
358 
3G4 
370 


«  ■  . 


JOHN  RANDOLPH,  OF  ROANOKE. 


"  GREAT  WITS  TO  MADNESS  NEARLY  ARE  ALLIED. " 

I  remember  some  years  since  to  have  seen 
John  Randolph  in  Baltimore.  I  had  frequently 
read  and  heard  descriptions  of  him ;  and  one  day, 
as  I  was  standing  in  Market,  now  Baltimore  Street, 
I  remarked  a  tall,  thin,  unique-looking  being  hur- 
rying towards  me  with  a  quick  impatient  step, 
evidently  much  annoyed  by  a  crowd  of  boys  who 
were  following  close  at  his  heels  ;  not  in  the  ob- 
streperous mirth  with  which  they  would  have  fol- 
lowed a  crazy  or  a  drunken  man,  or  an  organ- 
grinder  and  his  monkey,  but  in  the  silent,  curious 
wonder  with  which  they  would  have  haunted  a 
Chinese,  bedecked  in  full  costume.  I  instantly 
knew  the  individual  to  be  Randolph,  from  the 
descriptions.  I  therefore  advanced  towards  him, 
that  I  might  take  a  full  observation  of  his  person 
without  violating  the  rules  of  courtesy  in  stopping 
to  gaze  at  him.  As  he  approached,  he  occasionally 
2 


14  JOHN  RANDOLPH,  OF  ROANOKE. 

turned  towaios  the  soys  with  an  angry  glance,  but 
-without  ikying  anything,  and  then  hurried  on  as  if 
to  outstrip  them ;  but  it  would  not  do.  They  fol- 
lowed close  behind  the  orator,  each  one  observing 
him  so  intently  that  he  said  nothing  to  his  com- 
panions.    Just  before  I  met  him,  he  stopped  a  Mr. 

C ,  a  cashier  of  one  of  the  banks,  said  to  be 

as  odd  a  fish  as  John  himself.  I  loitered  into 
a  store,  close  by,  and,  unnoticed,  remarked  the 
Roanoke  orator  for  a  considerable  time ;  and  really, 
he  was  the  strangest-looking  being  I  ever  beheld. 

His  long  thin  legs,  about  as  thick  as  a  stout 
walking-cane,  and  of  much  such  a  shape,  were  en- 
cased in  a  pair  of  tight  smallclothes,  so  tight  that 
they  seemed  part  and  parcel  of  the  limbs  of  the 
wearer.  Handsome  white  stockings  were  fastened 
with  great  tidiness  at  the  knees,  by  a  small  gold 
buckle,  and  over  them,  coming  about  half-way  up 
the  calf,  were  a  pair  of  what  I  believe  are  called 
hose,  coarse  and  country  knit.  He  wore  shoes. 
They  were  old-fashioned,  and  fastened  also  with 
buckles — huge  ones.  He  trod  like  an  Indian,  with- 
out turning  his  toes  out,  but  planking  them  down 
straight  ahead.  It  was  the  fashion  in  those  days 
to  wear  a  fan-tailed  coat  with  a  small  collar,  and 
buttons  far  apart  behind,  and  few  on  the  breast. 
Mr.  Randolph's  were  the  reverse  of  all  this,  and, 
instead  of  his  coat  being  fan-tailed,  it  was  what 
we  believe  the  knights  of  the  needle  call  swallow- 


JOHN  RANDOLPH,  OF  ROANOKE.        15 

tailed  ;  the  collar  was  immensely  large,  the  buttons 
behind  were  in  kissing  proximity,  and  they  sat  to- 
gether as  close  on  the  breast  of  the  garment  as  the 
feasters  at  a  crowded  public  festival. 

His  waist  was  remarkably  slender,  so  slender 
that,  as  he  stood  with  his  arms  akimbo,  he  could 
easily,  as  I  thought,  with  his  long  bony  fingers,  have 
spanned  it.  Around  him  his  coat,  which  was  very 
tight,  was  held  together  by  one  button,  and  in 
consequence  an  inch  or  more  of  tape,  to  which  it 
was  attached,  was  perceptible  where  it  was  pulled 
through  the  cloth.  About  his  neck  he  wore  a  large 
white  cravat,  in  which  his  chin  was  occasionally 
buried  as  he  moved  his  head  in  conversation  ;  no 
shirt  collar  was  perceptible  ;  every  other  person 
seemed  to  pride  himself  upon  the  size  of  his,  as 
they  were  then  worn  large.  Mr.  Randolph's  com- 
plexion was  precisely  that  of  a  mummy;  withered, 
saffron,  dry,  and  bloodless ;  you  could  not  have 
placed  a  pin's  point  on  his  face  where  you  would 
not  have  touched  a  wrinkle.  His  lips  were  thin, 
compressed,  and  colorless ;  the  chin,  beardless  as  a 
boy's,  was  broad  for  the  size  of  his  face,  which  was 
small;  his  nose  was  straight,  with  nothing  remark- 
able in  it,  except,  perhaps,  it  was  too  short.  He 
wore  a  fur  cap,  which  he  took  off,  standing  a  few 
moments  uncovered.  I  observed  that  his  head  was 
quite  small,  a  characteristic  which  is  said  to  have 
marked  many  men  of  talent — Byron  and  Chief- 


16       JOHN  RANDOLPH,  OF  ROANOKE. 

Justice  Marshall,  for  instance.  Judge  Burnet,  of 
Cincinnati,  who  has  been  alike  distinguished  at  the 
bar,  on  the  bench,  and  in  the  United  States  Senate, 
and  whom  I  have  heard  no  less  a  judge  and  pos- 
sessor of  talent  than  Mr.  Hammond,  of  the  Gazette, 
say,  was  the  clearest  and  most  impressive  speaker 
he  ever  heard,  has  also  a  very  small  head.  Mr. 
Randolph's  hair  was  remarkably  fine ;  fine  as  an 
infant's,  and  thin.  It  was  very  long,  and  was  parted 
with  great  care  on  the  top  of  his  head,  and  was 
tied  behind  with  a  bit  of  black  ribbon,  about  three 
inches  from  his  neck  ;  the  whole  of  it  formed  a 
queue  not  thicker  than  the  little  finger  of  a  delicate 
girl. 

His  forehead  w7as  low,  with  no  bnmpology  about 
it ;  but  his  eye,  though  sunken,  was  most  bril- 
liant and  startling  in  its  glance.  It  was  not  an 
eye  of  profound,  but  of  impulsive  and  passionate 
thought,  with  an  expression  at  times  such  as  physi- 
cians describe  to  be  that  of  insanity  ;  but  an  insa- 
nity which  seemed  to  quicken,  not  destroy  intellect- 
ual acuteness.  I  never  beheld  an  eye  that  struck 
me  more.  It  possessed  a  species  of  fascination,  such 
as  would  make  you  wonder  over  the  character  of  its 
possessor,  without  finding  any  clue  in  your  wonder- 
ment to  discover  it,  except  that  he  was  passionate, 
wayward,  and  fearless.  He  lifted  his  long  bony 
finger  impressively  as  he  conversed,  and  gesticu- 
lated with  it  in   a  peculiar  manner.     His  whole 


JOHN  RANDOLPH,  OF  ROANOKE,       17 

appearance  struck  me,  and  I  could  easily  imagine 
how,  with  his  great  command  of  language,  so  ap- 
propriate and  full,  so  brilliant  and  classical,  joined 
to  the  vast  information  that  his  discursive  oratory 
enabled  him  to  exhibit  in  its  fullest  extent,  from 
the  storehouse  of  which  the  vividness  of  his  imagi- 
nation was  always  pointing  out  a  happy  analogy 
or  bitter  sarcasm  that  startled  the  more  from  the 
fact  that  his  hearers  did  not  perceive  it  until  the 
look,  tone,  and  finger  brought  it  down  with  the 
suddenness  of  lightning,  and  with  its  effects,  upon 
the  head  of  his  adversary ;  taking  all  this  into  con- 
sideration, I  could  easily  imagine  how,  when  almost 
a  boy,  he  won  so  much  fame,  and  preserved  it  so 
long,  and  with  so  vast  an  influence,  notwithstanding 
the  eccentricity  and  inconsistency  of  his  life,  public 
and  private. 

By  the  by,  the  sudden,  unexpected,  and  apho- 
ristical  way  in  which  Randolph  often  expressed  his 
sentiments  had  much  to  do  with  his  oratorical  suc- 
cess. He  would,  like  Dean  Swift,  make  a  remark, 
seemingly  a  compliment,  and  explain  it  into  a  sar- 
casm, or  he  would  utter  an  apparent  sarcasm  and 
turn  it  into  a  compliment.  Many  speakers,  when 
they  have  said  a  thing,  hurry  on  to  a  full  explana- 
tion, fearful  that  the  hearer  may  not  understand 
them  ;  but  when  Randolph  expressed  one  of  these 
startling  thoughts,  he  left  the  hearer  for  some  time 
puzzling  in  doubt  as  to  what  he  meant ;  and  when 
2* 


18       JOHN  RANDOLPH,  OF  ROANOKE. 

it  pleased  him,  in  the  coolest  manner  in  the  world 
he  explained  his  meaning,  not  a  little  delighted  if 
he  discovered  that  his  audience  were  wondering  the 
while  upon  whom  the  blow  would  descend,  or  what 
principle  the  remark  would  be  brought  to  illustrate. 
A  little  anecdote,  which  I  heard  a  member  of  Con- 
gress from  Kentucky  tell  of  him,  shows  this  cha- 
racteristic. The  Congressman,  on  his  first  visit  to 
Washington  (he  had  just  been  elected),  was  of 
course  desirous  of  seeing  the  lions.  Randolph, 
though  not  a  member  of  either  house,  was  there, 
and  had  himself  daily  borne  into  the  Senate  or 
House  by  his  faithful  Juba,  to  listen  to  the  debates. 
Everybody,  noted  or  unnoted,  was  calling  on  the 
eccentric  orator,  and  the  member  from  Kentucky 
determined  to  do  likewise  and  gratify  his  curiosity. 

A  friend,  General ,  promised  to  present  him, 

saying,  though  :  "  You  must  be  prepared  for  an 
odd  reception,  for,  if  Randolph  is  in  a  bad  humor, 
he  will  do  and  say  anything ;  if  he  is  in  a  good 
humor,  you  will  see  a  most  finished  gentleman." 
They  called ;  Mr.  Randolph  was  stretched  out  on  a 
sofa.  "He  seemed,"  said  the  member,  "a  skeleton, 
endowed  with  those  flashing  eyes  which  ghost- 
stories  give  to  the  reanimated  body  when  sent  upon 
some  earthly  mission." 

The  Congressman  was  presented  by  his  friend, 
the  general,  as  a  member  of  Congress  from  Ken- 
tucky.   "Ah,  from  Kentucky,  sir,"  exclaimed  Ran- 


19 

dolph,  in  his  shrill  voice,  as  he  rose  to  receive  him, 
"  from  Kentucky,  sir ;  well,  sir,  I  consider  your 
State  the  Botany  Bay  of  Virginia." 

The  Kentuckian  thought  that  the  next  remark 
would  be  a  quotation  from  Barrington's  Botany 
Bay  epilogue,  applied  by  Randolph  to  the  Virginia 
settlers  of  Kentucky : — 

"  True  patriots  we,  for,  be  it  understood, 
We  left  our  country  for  our  country's  good." 

But  Randolph,  after  a  pause,  continued:  "I  do 
not  make  this  remark,  sir,  in  application  to  the 
morals  or  mode  of  settlement  of  Kentucky.  No,  sir ; 
I  mean  to  say  that  it  is  my  opinion,  sir,  that  the 
time  approaches  when  Botany  Bay  will  in  all 
respects  surpass  England,  and,  I  fear,  it  will  soon 
be  so  with  regard  to  your  State  and  mine." 

I  cite  this  little  anecdote,  not  for  any  peculiar 
pith  that  it  possesses,  but  in  illustration  of  his 
character,  and  in  proof  of  the  remark  above  made. 

If  Mr.  Randolph  had  lived  in  ancient  times, 
Plutarch,  with  all  his  powers  in  tracing  the  analo- 
gies of  character,  would  have  looked  in  vain  for  his 
parallel.  And  a  modern  biographer,  with  all  an- 
cient and  all  modern  times  before  him,  will  find 
the  effort  fruitless  that  seeks  his  fellow.  At  first 
the  reader  might  think  of  Diogenes  as  furnishing 
some  resemblance  to  him,  and  that  all  that  Ran- 
dolph wanted  was  a  tub ;   but  not  so  if  another 


20       JOHN  RANDOLPH,  OF  ROANOKE. 

Alexander  had  asked  him  what  he  would  have  that 
imperial  power  could  bestow — the  answer  never 
would  have  been  a  request  to  stand  out  of  his  sun- 
light. No  ;  Randolph,  if  he  could  have  got  no 
higher  emolument  and  honor,  would  immediately 
have  requested  to  be  sent  on  a  foreign  mission ; 
that  over,  if  Alexander  had  nothing  more  to  give, 
and  was  so  situated  as  not  to  be  feared,  who  does 
not  believe  that  the  ex-minister  would  turn  tail  on 
him  ? 

The  fact  is  that  Randolph  was  excessively  am- 
bitious, a  cormorant  alike  for  praise  and  plunder; 
and  though  his  patriotism  could  point  out  the  dis- 
interested course  to  others,  his  love  of  money  would 
not  let  him  keep  the  track  himself — at  least  in  his 
later  years,  when  mammon,  the  old  man's  God, 
beset  him,  and  he  turned  an  idolater  to  that  for 
which  he  had  so  often  expressed  his  detestation, 
that  his  countrymen  believed  him.  His  mission  to 
Russia  broke  the  charm  that  the  prevailing  opinion 
of  his  disinterestedness  cast  about  him,  and  his  in- 
fluence in  his  native  State  was  falling  fast  beneath 
the  appointment  and  outfit  and  salary  that  had 
disenchanted  it  when  he  died ;  and  now  old  Vir- 
ginia will  forget  and  forgive  these  inconsistencies 
of  one  of  her  greatest  sons  to  do  reverence  to  his 
memory. 

Randolph's  republicanism  was  never  heartfelt; 
he  was  at  heart  an  aristocrat.     He  should  have 


JOHN  RANDOLPH,  OF  ROANOKE.       21 

been  born  in  England,  a  noble — there  he  would 
stubbornly  have  resisted  the  encroachments  of  all 
below  him  upon  his  own  prerogatives,  station,  dig- 
nity, and  quality ;  and  he  would  have  done  his 
best  to  bring  the  prerogatives,  station,  dignity, 
and  quality  of  all  above  him  a  little  below  his  level, 
or  at  least  upon  an  equality  with  his.  Randolph 
would  have  lifted  Wilkes  up  to  be  a  thorn  in  the 
side  of  a  king  whom  he  did  not  like,  and  to  over- 
throw his  minister;  had  he  been  himself  a  minister, 
his  loyalty  would  have  pronounced  Wilkes  an  un- 
principled demagogue.  Wilkes,  we  know,  when  he 
got  an  office,  said  he  could  prove  to  his  majesty 
that  he  himself  had  never  been  a  Wilkeite.  Ran- 
dolph was  intensely  selfish,  and  his  early  success 
as  a  politician  and  orator  impressed  him  with  an 
exaggerated  opinion  of  his  own  importance,  at  an 
age  when  such  opinions  are  easily  made  and  not 
easily  eradicated.  In  the  case  of  Randolph,  this 
overweening  self-estimation  grew  monstrous.  "Big 
man  me,  John,"  and  the  bigness  or  littleness  of 
others'  services  was  valued  and  proclaimed  just  in 
proportion  as  it  elevated  or  depressed  the  inte- 
rests and  personal  dignity  of  the  orator  of  Roa- 
noke. And  often,  when  his  interest  had  nothing 
to  do  with  the  question  presented  to  him,  his 
caprice  would  sway  his  judgment,  for  his  personal 
resentments  led  him  far  away  from  every  consi- 


22 

deration  save  that  of  how  he  could  best  wound  his 
adversary. 

His  blow  wanted  neither  vigor  nor  venom  ;  his 
weapons  were  poisoned  with  such  consummate  skill, 
and  he  so  well  knew  the  vulnerable  point  of  every 
character,  that  often  when  the  wound,  by  an  ob- 
server, who  knew  nothing  of  his  opponent,  was 
deemed  slight,  it  was  rankling  in  the  heart.  Ran- 
dolph was  well  acquainted  with  the  private  history 
of  the  eminent  men  of  his  time,  the  peccadillos, 
frailties,  indiscretions,  weaknesses,  vanities,  and 
vices  of  them  all.  He  used  his  tongue  as  a  jockey 
would  his  whip;  he  hit  the  sore  place  till  the  blood 
came,  and  there  was  no  crack,  or  flourish,  or  noise, 
or  bluster  in  doing  it.  It  was  done  with  a  celerity 
and  dexterity  which  showed  the  practised  hand, 
and  its  unexpectedness  as  well  as  its  severity  often 
dumbfounded  the  victim  so  completely  that  he  had 
not  one  word  to  say,  but  writhed  in  silence.  I  re- 
member hearing  two  anecdotes  of  Randolph,  which 
strikingly  type  his  character.  One  exhibits  his 
cynical  rudeness  and  disregard  for  the  feelings  of 
others — in  fact,  a  wish  to  wound  their  feelings; 
and  the  other  his  wit.  I  do  not  vouch  for  their 
accuracy,  but  I  give  them  as  I  have  frequently 
heard  them,  as  perhaps  has   the   reader.     Once, 

when  Randolph  was  in  the  city  of  B ,  he  was 

in  the  daily  habit  of  frequenting  the  bookstore  of 
one  of  the  largest  booksellers  in  the  place.     He 


JOHN  RANDOLPH,  OF  ROANOKE.       23 

made  some  purchases  from  him,  and  was  very 
curious  in  looking  over  his  books,  &c.  In  the 
course  of  Randolph's  visits,  he  became  very  fami- 
liar with  Mr. ,  the  bookseller,  and  they  held 

long  chats  together;  the  orator  of  Roanoke  show- 
ing off  with  great  courtesy.     Mr.  was  quite 

a  pompous  man,  and  rather  vain  of  his  acquaintance 
with  the  lions  who  used  to  stop  in  his  shop.  Sub- 
sequently, being  in  Washington  with  a  friend,  he 
espied  Randolph  advancing  towards  him,  and  told 
his  friend  that  he  would  introduce  him  to  the 
"  great  man."  His  friend,  however,  knowing  the 
waywardness  of  Randolph,  declined.  "Well,"  said 
Mr.  ,  "  I  am  sorry  you  will  not  be  intro- 
duced. I'll  go  up  and  give  him  a  shake  of  the 
hand,  at  any  rate."  Up  he  walked  with  out- 
stretched hand,  to  salute  the  cynic.  The  aristo- 
cratic republican  (by  the  by,  how  often  your  tho- 
roughgoing republican  is  a  full-blooded  aristocrat 
in  his  private  relations)  immediately  threw  his 
hand  behind  him,  as  if  he  could  not  "  dull  his 
palm"  with  such  "  entertainment,"  and  gazed 
searchingly  into  the  face  of  the  astonished  book- 
seller. "  Oh,  ho!"  said  he,  as  if  recollecting  him- 
self,    "  you    are    Mr.   B ,    from    Baltimore." 

"Yes,  sir,"  was  the  reply.  "A  bookseller." 
"  Yes,  sir,"  again.  "Ah!  I  bought  some  books 
from  you."  "Yes,  sir,  you  did."  "  Did  I  forget 
to  pay  you  for  them  ?"     "No,  sir,  you  did  not." 


24  JOHN  RANDOLPH,  OF  ROANOKE. 

"  Good-morning,  sir,"  said  the  orator,  lifting  his 
cap  with  offended  dignity,  and  passing  on. 

This  anecdote  does  not  show  either  Randolph's 
goodness  of  head  or  heart,  but  it  shows  his  cha- 
racter. 

The  other  anecdote  is  as  follows :  The  Honor- 
able Peter ,  who  was  a  watchmaker,  and  who 

had  represented  B County  for  many  years  in 

Congress,  once  made  a  motion  to  amend  a  resolu- 
tion offered  by  Randolph,  on  the  subject  of  military 
claims.  Mr.  Randolph  rose  up  after  the  amend- 
ment had  been  offered,  and  drawing  his  watch  from 
his  fob,  asked  the  Honorable  Peter  what  o'clock  it 
was.  He  told  him.  "  Sir,"  replied  the  orator, 
"  you  can  mend  my  watch,  but  not  my  motions. 
You  understand  tic-tics,  sir,  but  not  tactics  !" 

That,  too,  was  a  fine  retort,  when,  after  he  had 
been  speaking,  several  members  rose  in  succession 
and  attacked  him.  "  Sir,"  said  he  to  the  Speaker, 
"  I  am  in  the  condition  of  old  Lear — 

"  '  The  little  clogs  and  all, 

Tray,  Blanch,  and  Sweetheart — see,  they  bark  at  me.'  " 

All  accounts  agree  in  praising  the  oratorical 
powers  of  Randolph.  His  manner  was  generally 
slow  and  impressive,  his  voice  squeaking,  but 
clear  and  distinct;  and,  as  far  as  it  could  be 
heard,  what  he  said  was  clearly  understood.  His 
gestures  were  chiefly  with  his  long  and   skeleton- 


OF  ROAXOKE.  25 

like  finger.  The  impressiveness  with  which  he 
used  it  has  been  remarked  by  all  who  have  heard 
him.  When  he  was  sarcastic,  amidst  a  thousand 
it  would  say,  stronger  than  language,  to  the  indi- 
vidual whom  he  meant,  "  Thou  art  the  man."  In 
his  choice  of  language,  he  was  very  fastidious, 
making  sometimes  a  considerable  pause  to  select  a 
word.  His  reading  was  extensive,  and  in  every 
department  of  knowledge — romances,  tales,  poems, 
plays,  voyages,  travels,  history,  biography,  philo- 
sophy, all  arrested  his  attention,  and  each  had 
detained  him  loner  enough  to  render  him  familiar 
with  the  best  works  of  the  kind.  His  mind  was 
naturally  erratic,  and  his  desultory  reading,  as  he 
never  devoted  himself  to  any  profession,  and  dipped 
a  little  into  all,  increased  his  natural  and  mental 
waywardness.  He  seldom  reasoned,  and  when  he 
did,  it  was  with  an  effort  that  was  painful,  and 
which  cost  him  more  trouble  than  it  was  worth. 
He  said  himself,  in  one  of  his  speeches  in  the 
Senate  of  the  United  States,  "  that  he  had  a  de- 
fect, whether  of  education  or  nature  was  imma- 
terial, perhaps  proceeding  from  both,  a  defect 
which  had  disabled  him,  from  his  first  entrance 
into  public  life  to  the  present  hour,  from  making 
what  is  called  a  regular  speech."  The  defect  was 
doubtless  both  from  education  and  nature  ;  educa- 
tion might  have,  in  some  measure,  corrected  the 
3 


26  JOHN  RANDOLPH,  OF  ROANOKE. 

tendencies  of  his  nature;  but  there  was,  perhaps, 
an  idiosyncrasy  in  the  constitution  of  the  man, 
which  compelled  him  to  be  meteoric  and  erratic  in 
mind  as  well  as  temper.  He  said  that  "  ridicule 
was  the  keenest  weapon  in  the  whole  parliamentary 
armory,"  and  he  learned  all  the  tricks  of  fence 
with  it,  and  never  played  with  foils.  He  seems 
to  have  had  more  admiration  for  the  oratory  of 
Chatham  than  that  of  any  other  individual,  if  we 
may  judge  from  the  manner  in  which  that  great 
man  is  mentioned  in  his  speeches.  They  were 
certainly  unlike  in  character,  very  unlike.  Chat- 
ham having  had  bad  health,  and  it  being  well 
known  that  he  went  to  Parliament  and  made  his 
best  efforts  when  almost  sinking  from  sickness, 
Randolph  might  have  felt  that,  as  he  had  done 
the  same  thing,  their  characters  were  assimilated. 
Chatham  was  seized  with  a  fainting  fit  when  mak- 
ing his  last  speech,  and  died  a  short  time  after- 
wards. And  probably  it  is  not  idle  speculation  to 
say  that  Randolph,  with  a  morbid  or  perhaps  an 
insane  admiration  of  his  character,  wished  to  sink 
as  Chatham  did,  in  the  legislative  hall,  and  be 
borne  thence  to  die. 

However,  there  was  enough  in  the  character  of 
Chatham  to  win  the  admiration  of  any  one  who 
loved  eloquence,  without  seeking  in  adventitious 
circumstances  a  motive  for  his  admiration ;  and 
Randolph  appreciated  such  talents  as  his  too  high- 


27 

ly  not  to  have  admired  them  under  all  circum- 
stances; but  his  reverence  was  doubtless  increased 
from  the  resemblance  which  he  saw  in  their  bodily 
conditions,  and  which,  he  was  very  willing  to  be- 
lieve, extended  to  their  minds.  Chatham  was  bold, 
vehement,  resistless,  not  often  witty,  but  eminently 
successful  when  he  attempted  it ;  invective  was  his 
forte.  In  some  of  these  points  Randolph  resem- 
bled him  ;  but  then  Chatham's  eloquence  was  but 
a  means  to  gain  his  ends ;  his  judgment  was  in- 
tuitive, his  sagacity  unrivalled ;  he  bore  down  all 
opposition  by  his  fearless  energies,  and  he  com- 
pelled his  enemies  to  admit  that  he  was  a  public 
benefactor  in  the  very  breath  in  which  they  ex- 
pressed their  personal  dislike.  Chatham  kept  his 
ends  steadily  in  view,  and  never  wavered  in  his 
efforts  to  gain  them.  Not  so  Randolph.  He  re- 
minds us  of  the  urchin  in  the  "  Lay  of  the  Last 
Minstrel,"  who  always  used  his  fairy  gifts  with  a 
spirit  of  deviltry,  to  provoke,  to  annoy,  and  to 
injure ;  no  matter  whom  he  wounded,  or  when,  or 
where.  Randolph  did  not  want  personal  dignity, 
but  he  wanted  the  dignity  which  arises  from  con- 
sistent conduct,  a  want  which  no  brilliancy  of 
talent  can  supply.  On  the  contrary,  the  splendor 
of  high  talents  but  serves  to  make  such  incon- 
sistency the  more  apparent.  He  was  an  intel- 
lectual meteor,  whose  course  no  one  could  predict; 
but,  be  it  where  it  might,  all  were  certain  that  it 


28       JOHN  RANDOLPH,  OF  ROANOKE. 

would  blaze,  and  wither,  and  destroy.  As  a  states- 
man, it  is  believed  that  he  never  originated  a  single 
measure,  though  his  influence  often  destroyed  the 
measures  of  others.  Some  one  observes  "  that 
the  hand  which  is  not  able  to  build  a  hovel,  may 
destroy  a  palace,"  and  he  seemed  to  have  had  a 
good  deal  of  the  ambition  of  him  who  fired  the 
Ephesian  dome.  As  a  scholar,  he  left  nothing 
behind  him,  though  his  wit  was  various  and  his 
acquirements  profound.  He  seems  not  to  have 
written  a  common  communication  for  a  newspaper 
without  great  labor  and  fastidious  correction. 

I  have  been  informed  by  a  compositor  who  set  a 
part  of  his  speech  on  "  retrenchment,"  which  he 
dedicated  to  his  constituents,  that  his  emendations 
were  endless.  I  have  a  part  of  the  MS.  of  this 
speech  before  me ;  it  is  written  with  a  trembling 
hand,  but  with  great  attention  to  punctuation,  and 
with  a  delicate  stroke  of  the  pen.  It  was  as  an 
orator  he  shone,  and,  as  an  orator,  his  power  of 
chaining  the  attention  of  his  audience  has  been, 
perhaps,  never  surpassed.  In  an  assembly  where 
Demosthenes,  Cicero,  Chatham,  Mirabeau,  or 
Henry  spoke,  Randolph's  eloquence  would  have 
been  listened  to  with  profound  interest,  and  his 
opposition  would  have  been  feared.  As  an  orator, 
he  felt  his  power — he  knew  that  in  eloquence  he 
wielded  a  magic  wand,  and  he  was  not  only  fearless 
of  opposition,  but  he  courted  it;  for  who  of  his 


JOHN  RANDOLPH,  OF  ROANOKE.        29 

contemporaries  has  equalled  him  in  the  power  of 
carrying  on  successfully  the  partisan  warfare  of 
desultory  debate — the  quick  surprise — the  cut  and 
thrust  —  the  arrowy  aim — the  murderous  fire? 
Who  could  wield  like  him  the  tomahawk,  and  who 
of  them  possessed  his  dexterity  in  scalping  a  foe  ? 
His  trophies  are  numberless,  and  he  wore  them 
with  the  pride  of  his  progenitors,  for  there  was 
truly  a  good  deal  of  Indian  blood  in  his  veins.  It 
is  said  that  Randolph  first  signalized  himself  by 
making  a  stump  speech  in  Virginia  in  opposition  to 
Patrick  Henry. 

Scarcely  any  one  knew  him  when  he  rose  to 
reply  to  Henry,  and  so  strong  was  Henry's  con- 
viction of  his  powers,  on  hearing  him,  that  he  spoke 
of  them  in  the  highest  terms,  and  prophesied  his 
future  eminence.  Randolph  gloriously  said  of 
Henry,  that  "he  was  Shakspeare  and  Garrick  com- 
bined." 

Randolph's  character  and  conduct  forcibly  im- 
press upon  us  the  power  of  eloquence  in  a  republic. 
How  many  twists  and  turns,  and  tergiversations 
and  obliquities  were  there  in  his  course!  Yet  how 
much  influence  he  possessed,  particularly  in  Vir- 
ginia !  How  much  he  was  feared,  courted,  ad- 
mired, shunned,  hated,  and  all  because  he  wielded 
the  weapon  that  "rules  the  fierce  democracy!" 
How  many  men,  far  his  superiors  in  practical  use- 
fulness, lived  unhonored  and  without  influence,  and 
3* 


30 

died  unsung,  because  they  had  not  eloquence. 
Eloquence  is  superior  to  all  other  gifts,  even  to  the 
dazzling  fascinations  of  the  warrior;  for  it  rules 
alike  in  war  and  peace,  and  it  wins  all  by  its  spell. 
Randolph  was  the  very  personification  of  incon- 
sistency. Behold  him  talking  of  the  "  splendid 
misery"  of  office-holders  ;  "  what  did  he  want  with 
office?  a  cup  of  cold  water  was  better  in  his  condi- 
tion ;  the  sword  of  Damocles  was  suspended  over 
him  by  a  single  hair,"  &c.  &c. ;  when  lo  !  he  goes 
to  the  frigid  north — for  what  ?  For  health  ?  No  ! 
for  an  outfit  and  a  salary  !  and  dies  childless,  worth, 
it  is  said,  nearly  a  million. 

Randolph's  oratory  reminds  us  forcibly  of  Don 
Juan  ;  and  if  Ryron  had  written  nothing  but  Don 
Juan,  Randolph  might  have  been  called  the  Byron 
of  orators.  He  had  all  the  wit,  eccentricity,  malice, 
and  flightiness  of  that  work — its  touches  that  strike 
the  heart,  and  sarcasms  that  scorn,  the  next  mo- 
ment, the  tear  that  had  started. 

In  a  dying  state,  Randolph  went  to  Washington 
during  the  last  session  of  Congress,  and,  although 
not  a  member,  he  had  himself  borne  daily  to  the 
hall  of  legislation  to  witness  the  debate.  He  re- 
turned home  to  his  constituents,  and  was  elected  to 
Congress,  and  started  on  a  tour  to  Europe,  if  pos- 
sible to  regain  his  health  ;  he  said,  "  it  was  the  last 
throw  of  the  die." 

He  expired  in  Philadelphia,  where  he  had  first 


JOHN  RANDOLPH,  OF  ROANOKE.        31 

appeared  in  the  councils  of  the  nation,  in  the  sixty- 
first  year  of  his  age,  leaving  a  reputation  behind 
him  for  classic  wit  and  splendid  eloquence  -which 
few  of  his  contemporaries  may  hope  to  equal ;  and 
a  character  which  his  biographer  may  deem  him- 
self fortunate  if  he  can  explain  it  to  have  been 
compatible  with  either  the  duties  of  social  life,  the 
sacredness  of  friendship,  or  the  requirements  of 
patriotism,  unless  he  offer  as  an  apology  partial 
derangement,  In  a  letter,  in  which  the  deceased 
acknowledged  that  he  had  made  a  misstatement  in 
regard  to  the  character  of  Mr.  Lowndes  on  the 
tariff,  he  assigned,  as  a  reason  for  the  error,  the 
disordered  state  of  his  mind,  arising  from  the 
exciting  medicines  which  he  was  compelled  to  take 
to  sustain  life. 

I  have,  perhaps,  expressed  myself  harshly,  in- 
consistently with  that  charitable  feeling  which  all 
should  possess  who  are  "  treading  upon  ashes  under 
which  the  fire  is  not  yet  extinguished."  If  so,  to 
express  our  conscientious  opinions  is  sometimes  to 
do  wrong. 

"  Why  draw  his  frailties  from  their  dread  abode?" 
AT  ho  can  tell,  in  the  close  alliance  between  rea- 
son and  madness,  which  were  so  strongly  mixed  up 
in  his  character,  how  much  his  actions  and  words 
partook  of  the  one  or  the  other  ?  Where  they  al- 
ternated, or  where  one  predominated,  or  where  they 
mingled  their  influence,  not  in  the  embrace  of  love, 


82       JOHN  RANDOLPH,  OF  ROANOKE. 

but  in  the  strife  for  mastery  ?  Oh  !  how  much  he 
may  have  struggled  with  his  mental  aberrations 
and  wanderings,  and  felt  that  they  were  errors, 
and  yet  struggled  in  vain.  His  spirit,  like  the 
great  eye  of  the  universe,  may  have  known  that 
storms  and  clouds  beset  it,  and  have  felt  that  it  was 
contending  with  disease  and  the  film  of  coming 
death,  yet  hoped  at  last  to  beam  forth  in  its  bright- 
ness. 

"  The  day  drags  on,  though  storms  keep  out  the  sun, 
And  thus  the  heart  will  break,  and  brokenly  live  on." 

And  so  it  is  with  the  mind,  and  Randolph's 
"  brokenly  lived  on"  till  the  raven  shadows  of  the 
night  of  death  gathered  over  him  and  gave  him  to 
the  dark  beyond. 


WILLIAM   WIRT.* 


Perhaps  there  was  no  individual  in  our  country 
more  highly  endowed  with  intellectual  gifts  than 
the  late  William  Wirt,  the  greatest  public  blunder 
of  whose  career  was  that,  late  in  life,  and  at  the 
eleventh  political  hour,  he  suffered  himself  to  be 
announced  as  a  candidate  for  the  presidency,  by  a 
party  with  whom  he  had  not  before  acted.  But, 
be  this  as  it  may,  all  must  admit,  who  knew  him, 
that  whatever  Mr.  Wirt  did  he  did  conscientiously. 
We  all  know  and  feel  "  that  to  err  is  human,"  and 
we  have  yet  to  learn  that  error  is  a  proof  of  selfish- 
ness.    The  Roman  Cato,  when  he  found  that 

"  This  world  was  made  for  Ccesar," 

fled  to  suicide.  He  might  have  shunned  the  deed, 
and  outlived  Cassar,  as  Mr.  Wirt  did  the  excitement 
which  made  him  a  presidential  candidate,  and  still, 

*  This  sketch  was  written  before  the  admirable  Life  of 
"Wirt,  by  Hon.  John  P.  Kennedy,  had  been  issued. 


34  WILLIAM  WIRT. 

like.. him,  have  served  his  country.  "The  post  of 
honor  is  a  private  station"  oftener  than  politi- 
cians are  aware,  but  still,  without  guile,  they  have 
often  quit  it  to  return  to  it  without  reproach. 
Until  this  event,  Mr.  Wirt  pursued  the  even  tenor 
of  his  profession  through  a  long  life,  dignifying  it 
with  the  official  statesmanship  of  Attorney-General 
of  the  United  States,  and  not  as  a  mere  lawyer, 
who,  like  a  drudge-horse,  can  only  go  in  the  gears 
of  a  particular  vehicle,  but  adorning  and  illus- 
trating it  with  literature  and  science.  His  know- 
ledge of  history  and  of  the  ancient  and  modern 
classics  was  as  profound  as  his  legal  acquirements, 
while  his  political  information  and  sagacity  kept 
pace  with  his  other  improvements.  His  genius  was 
of  the  first  order,  and  he  improved  it  with  the  most 
sedulous  care.  He  exerted  his  mind  at  times  as  an 
author,  then  as  an  orator,  and  daily  as  a  lawyer, 
while  his  efforts  in  each  department  improved  his 
general  powers,  and  gave  him  that  variety  of  infor- 
mation and  knowledge,  which,  when  combined  with 
genius,  makes,  what  Mr.  Wirt  really  was,  a  truly 
great  man.  Not  great  only  in  politics,  literature, 
or  law,  but  great  in  each  and  all,  like  Lord  Brough- 
am. Many  of  his  countrymen  were  his  superiors 
in  some  departments  of  learning,  as  they  may  be 
said  to  be  his  superiors  in  some  natural  endow- 
ments, but  for  universality  and  variety  of  talent 
perhaps  he  was  not  surpassed. 

Mr.  Wirt  had  none  of  the  adventitious  aids  of 


WILLIAM  WIRT.  35 

high  birth,  fortune,  and  connections,  to  assist  him 
up  the  steep  hill  of  fame.  He  was  compelled  to 
force  his  own  way,  unaided  and  unfriended ;  and, 
like  many  other  great  men  of  our  country,  he 
taught  school  for  a  maintenance  while  he  studied 
law.  It  was  during  that  time,  while  he  was  a  stu- 
dent, or  immediately  after  he  was  admitted  to  the 
practice,  that  he  wrote  the  letters  of  the  "  British 
Spy."  The  description  of  the  novi  homines,  the  new 
men,  which  he  so  eloquently  gives  in  one  of  those 
letters,  applied  aptly  to  himself.  The  eloquence 
with  which  he  describes  the  elevated  purposes  of 
oratory  exhibited  his  own  devotion  to  the  art, 
while  it  showed  his  capability  of  excelling  in  it. 

It  may  be  said  to  be  almost  the  peculiar  privilege 
of  an  American  to  win  his  own  way,  by  the  gifts 
nature  has  given  him,  with  the  certainty  that 
success  will  wait  on  merit.  Wealth  and  family 
influence,  it  is  true,  have  great  weight  in  the  start 
of  a  young  man;  but,  in  the  long  run,  superior 
talent  will  gain  the  prize,  no  matter  what  may 
have  been  the  early  disadvantages  of  their  pos- 
sessor, provided  the  resolution  to  be  true  to  himself 
comes  not  too  late.  The  history  of  almost  every 
departed,  as  well  as  of  almost  every  living  worthy 
of  our  country,  proves  this  remark;  and  it  is  right 
that  it  should  be  so.  Perhaps  this,  more  than  any 
other  feature  in  a  republic,  tends  to  its  durability, 
while  it  renders  it  glorious.  The  great  mass  of  the 
people  are  seldom  wrong  in  their  judgments,  and 


36  WILLIAM  WIRT. 

therefore  it  is  that  with  them  talents  meet  with  a 
just  appreciation  wherever  they  become  known,  at 
least  talent  for  oratory. 

Mr.  Wirt  had  all  the  qualifications  for  obtaining 
the  popular  good-will.  He  possessed  a  fine  person, 
remarkable  amenity  of  manners,  colloquial  qualities 
of  the  first  order,  wit  at  will,  and  he  abounded  in 
anecdotes,  which  he  related  with  remarkable  plea- 
santness and  tact.  A  stranger,  on  entering  an 
assemblage  where  Mr.  Wirt  was,  would  immediately, 
on  perceiving  him,  have  supposed  him  to  be  a  supe- 
rior man. 

His  person  was  above  the  medium  height,  with 
an  inclination  to  corpulency;  his  countenance  was 
"sicklied  o'er  with  the  pale  cast  of  thought;"  his 
mouth  was  finely  formed,  and  a  physiognomist 
would  have  noted  that  the  compression  of  his  lips 
denoted  firmness,  and  his  smile  good-humored 
irony ;  he  had  a  Roman  nose  ;  an  eye  of  cerulean 
blue,  with  a  remarkably  arch  expression  when  he 
was  animated,  and  of  calm  thoughtfulness  when 
his  features  were  in  repose  ;  his  forehead  was  not 
high,  but  it  was  broad,  with  the  phrenological  de- 
velopments strongly  marked,  particularly  the  poetic 
and  perceptive  faculties. 

His  hair  was  sandy,  and  his  head  bald  on  the 
top,  which,  with  Byronian  anxiety,  he  tried  to  hide 
by  combing  the  hair  over  the  baldness ;  and  it  was 
much  his   custom,  when  engaged  in  an  oratorical 


WILLIAM  WIRT.  37 

display,  to  preserve  its  adjustment  by  passing  his 
hands  over  it.  He  was  much  more  careful  in  this 
regard  than  is  the  eloquent  and  chivalric  Preston, 
who,  though  he  wears  a  wig,  seems  not  only  indif- 
ferent as  to  who  knows  it,  but  of  the  wig  itself; 
for,  in  a  sturdy  breeze  which  blew  over  the  Canton 
Course,  at  the  Baltimore  Convention,  it  nearly  left 
him,  he  the  while  apparently  unconscious,  as  he 
fulminated  to  the  vast  and  rapt  multitude.  Well! 
the  Carolinian  may  not  love  the  laurel  as  Csesar 
did,  because  it  hid  his  baldness,  but  he  deserved 
to  have  it  voted  to  him  long  ago  for  his  eloquence. 

General  Harrison  used  to  tell,  as  he  gladdened 
the  hearth  at  the  Bend  with  stories  of  the  past 
and  the  present,  how  he  remembered  to  have  seen 
Patrick  Henry,  in  the  heat  of  his  glorious  decla- 
mation, twist  the  back  of  his  wig  until  it  covered 
his  brow ;  and  any  one  who  has  heard  the  Senator 
from  Carolina,  would  say  that  the  resemblance* 
between  himself  and  his  illustrious  relative  ex- 
tended from  great  things  to  small. 

On  the  first  glance  at  Mr.  Wirt's  countenance, 
when  he  was  not  engaged  in  conversation  or  busi- 
ness, the  observer  would  have  been  struck  with  the 
true  dignity  of  the  man,  who  seemed  to  hold  all 
his  energies  in  perfect  control.  His  self-possession 
was  great.  When  he  arose  to  address  the  court 
or  jury,  there  was  no  hurry,  no  agitation  about 
him,  as  we  perceive  in  many  men;  on  the  contrary, 
4 


38  WILLIAM  WIRT. 

he  stood  collected,  while  his  enunciation  was  deli- 
berate and  slow.  He  stated  his  proposition  with 
great  simplicity  ;  in  fact,  it  was  generally  a  self- 
evident  one,  the  applicability  of  which  to  the  case, 
if  it  were  intricate  and  doubtful,  the  hearer  might 
in  vain  endeavor  to  trace ;  but  when  he  had  heard 
the  orator  to  the  conclusion,  he  would  wonder  that 
he  had  fancied  any  uncertainty  about  it — for  Mr. 
Wirt  would  lead  him  by  the  gentlest  gradations 
until  he  was  convinced.  It  may  be  mentioned,  too, 
that  Mr.  Wirt,  like  Mr.  Clay,  was  a  great  taker 
of  snuff,  and  he  handled  his  box  with  a  grace 
which  would  have  rivalled  even  that  of  the  Senator 
from  Kentucky.  Lord  Chatham,  it  is  said,  made 
his  crutch  a  weapon  of  oratory. 

"  You  talk  of  conquering  America,  sir,"  said  he; 
"  I  might  as  well  attempt  to  drive  them  before  me 
with  this  crutch." 

And  so  Mr.  Wirt  made,  and  Mr.  Clay  makes, 
his  snuffbox  an  oratorical  weapon.  Mr.  Wirt's 
language  was  at  times  almost  oriental ;  his  figures 
being  of  the  boldest,  and  his  diction  correspondent. 
His  speeches  in  Burr's  trial  show  this,  though 
latterly  he  chastened  somewhat  his  diction  and  his 
thoughts.  He  sustained  himself  well  in  the  high- 
est flight  of  eloquence,  his  hearers  having  no  fear 
that  he  would  fall  from  his  eminence  like  him  in  the 
fable  with  the  waxen  wings.  On  the  contrary,  the 
hearer  felt  confident  of  his  intellectual  strength, 


WILLIAM  WIRT.  39 

and  yielded  his  whole  feelings  to  him  without  that 
drawback  we  experience  in  listening  to  some  of 
the  ablest  speakers,  who  often  have  some  glaring 
imperfection  which  is  continually  destroying  their 
eloquence.  Mr.  Wirt  studied  oratory  with  Cice- 
ronian care,  and,  in  the  recklessness  with  which  he 
let  fly  the  arrows  of  his  wTit,  he  much  resembled  the 
Roman.  The  power  of  ridiculing  his  adversary 
was  Mr.  Wirt's  forte.  The  appropriate  manner  in 
which  he  applied  an  anecdote  was  admirable. 
After  he  had  demonstrated  the  absurdity  of  his 
opponent's  arguments,  with  a  clearness  which  the 
most  critical  logician  would  have  admired ;  after  he 
had  illustrated  his  position  with  all  the  lights  of 
law,  that  law  whose  seat,  Hooker  said,  "  is  the 
bosom  of  God,  and  whose  voice  is  the  harmony  of 
the  world,"  (and  when  Mr.  Wirt  had  a  strong  case, 
he  explored  every  field  of  literature  and  science, 
bringing  their  joint  sanctions  to  his  purposes ;) 
after  he  had  called  up  the  truths  of  philosophy, 
the  experience  of  history,  and  the  beauties  of 
poetry,  all  coming  like  spirits  thronging  to  his 
call ;  after  he  had  expatiated  upon  the  cause,  with 
such  reflections  as  you  would  suppose  Barrow  or 
Tillotson  to  have  used  when  speaking  of  the  "  op- 
pressor's wrong;"  after  he  had  done  all  this,  Mr. 
Wirt  would,  if  the  opposite  party  deserved  the 
infliction,  pour  forth  upon  him  a  lava-like  ridicule, 
which  flamed  while  it  burned,  and  which  was  at 


40  WILLIAM  WIRT. 

once  terrible  and  beautiful — terrible  from  its  seve- 
rity and  truth,  and  beautiful  from  the  chaste  lan- 
guage in  which  it  was  conveyed. 

Mr.  Wirt  always  struck  me  as  being  very  much 
like  the  late  Prime  Minister  of  England,  Canning, 
in  his  mind.  Canning  wanted,  and  Wirt  in  a  de- 
gree, the  power  of  calling  up  and  controlling  the 
stronger  and  deeper  passions  of  our  nature.  He 
had  not  that  withering  scorn  which  Brougham 
possesses  so  strongly,  nor  could  he  rise  above  the 
tempest  of  popular  commotion,  as  he  tells  us  Pat- 
rick Henry  could,  and  soar  with  "supreme  domi- 
nion." He  wanted  deep  passion.  Comparing  him 
with  the  leading  orators  of  our  country,  it  would 
be  said  that  Clay  far  surpassed  him  in  the  power 
of  controlling  a  miscellaneous  assemblage,  when 
the  public  mind  was  deeply  agitated;  that-Pink- 
ney  on  a  question  of  feudal  lore,  Webster  in  pro- 
fundity and  on  constitutional  law,  and  Preston 
in  the  glare  of  vehement  declamation,  would 
have  had  the  advantage  over  him  ;  but  before  an 
auditory  who  loved  to  mingle  wit  with  argument, 
and  elegance  with  strength,  who  would  make  truth 
more  beautiful  by  the  adornments  of  poetry,  and 
poetry  useful  as  the  handmaid  of  truth,  adding  to 
all  those  exterior  graces  which  make  oratory  so 
captivating — before  such  an  auditory,  it  may  be 
said,  without  great  hesitation,  that  Mr.  Wirt  would 
have  surpassed  either  of  them  in  general  effect. 


WILLIAM  WIRT.  41 

Mr.  Wirt's  gestures,  too,  gifts  of  which  the  Grecian 
thought  so  much,  were  in  keeping  with  his  other 
excellences.  The  fault  was  that  they  were  stu- 
died— and  yet  the  art  with  which  he  concealed  his 
art  was  consummate.  It  was  only  by  the  closest 
observation  that  it  could  be  detected.  For  a  long 
time,  Mr.  Wirt's  chief  opponent  at  the  Baltimore 
bar  was  Mr.  Taney,  the  present  Chief-Justice  of 
the  United  States.  Mr.  Taney  removed  to  Balti- 
more from  Frederick,  on  the  death  of  Pinkney, 
and  there  Mr.  Wirt  and  himself  were  the  great 
forensic  rivals.  No  two  men  of  the  same  profes- 
sion could  have  been  more  different  in  their  intel- 
lectual gifts  than  were  these  gentlemen.  They 
were  as  unlike  in  these  regards  as  they  were  in 
their  personal  appearance.  Mr.  Taney  was  then 
slim  to  feebleness  (he  looks  now  improved  in 
health) ;  he  stooped,  and  his  voice  was  weak,  and 
such  was  the  precarious  condition  of  his  health, 
that  he  had  to  station  himself  immediately  before 
and  near  the  jury,  to  make  himself  heard  by  them. 
Mr.  Wirt  always  placed  himself  on  the  side  of  the 
trial  table,  opposite  the  jury,  in  oratorical  position. 
Mr.  Taney's  manner  of  speaking  was  slow  and 
firm,  never  using  the  least  rhetorical  ornament,  but 
pressing  into  the  heart  of  the  cause  with  powerful 
arguments,  like  a  great  leader,  with  unbroken 
phalanx,  into  the  heart  of  a  besieged  city.     His 

style  was  plain,  unadorned,  and  so  forcible   and 
4* 


42  WILLIAM  WIRT. 

direct,  that  it  might  be  called  palpable.  With  his 
snuffbox — for  the  Chief-Justice  then,  too,  used 
snuff — compressed  in  his  closed  hands,  he  reasoned 
for  hours  without  the  least  attempt  at  wit  or  elo- 
quence. And  yet,  at  times,  he  was  truly  eloquent, 
from  his  deep  subdued  earnestness.  In  a  question 
of  bail  in  the  case  of  a  youth  who  had  shot  at  his 
teacher,  I  remember,  though  then  a  school-boy,  at- 
tracted to  the  court-house  in  pity  for  the  lad,  that 
a  crowded  auditory  were  suffused  in  tears.  It  was 
the  fervor  of  his  own  feelings,  speaking  right  out, 
that  made  him  eloquent.  He  did  not  appear  to 
know  that  he  was  eloquent  himself.  It  was  an  in- 
spiration that  came  to  him,  if  it  came  at  all,  unbid- 
den, and  which  would  no  more  answer  to  his  call 
than  Glendower's 

"  Spirits  from  the  vasty  deep/' 

One  of  the  most  interesting  cases  ever  witnessed 
at  the  Baltimore  bar,  was  a  trial  in  a  mandamus 
case,  in  which  the  right  to  a  church  was  contested. 
Mr.  Duncan  had  been  established  in  the  ministry 
in  Baltimore,  by  a  number  of  Scotch  Presbyterians, 
in  an  obscure  edifice.  His  talents  drew  such  a  con- 
gregation, that  it  soon  became  necessary  to  build  a 
larger  one.  It  was  done  ;  and  in  the  progress  of 
events,  the  pastor  preached  a  more  liberal  doctrine 
than  he  had  at  first  inculcated.  His  early  sup- 
porters remained  not  only  unchanged  in  their  faith, 


WILLIAM  WIRT.  43 

but  they  resolved  to  have  it  preached  to  them  by 
one  with  whom  they  could  entirely  agree  upon  re- 
ligious matters.  The  majority  of  the  congregation 
agreed  with  Mr.  Duncan.  A  deep  schism  arose  in 
the  divided  flock,  which  could  not  be  healed,  and 
which  was  eventually,  by  a  writ  of  mandamus, 
carried  before  a  legal  tribunal.  Mr.  Taney  was 
counsel  for  the  Old  School  side,  and  Mr.  "Wirt  for 
the  defendants.  The  court-room,  during  the  trial, 
was  crowded  with  the  beauty  and  fashion  of  the 
monumental  city.  It  was  such  a  display  of  elo- 
quence, and  a  full  appreciation  of  it,  as  is  seldom 
witnessed.  Mr.  Wirt  was  always  happy  in  making 
a  quotation,  and  in  concluding  this  cause  he  made 
one  of  his  happiest.  After  alluding  to  the  Old 
School  members,  who  it  has  been  said  were  Scotch- 
men, and  after  dwelling  upon  the  tragedy  of  Mac- 
beth, the  scenes  of  which  are  laid  in  Scotland,  he 
described  their  preacher  as  being  in  the  condition 
of  Macbeth's  guest,  and  said,  after  a  stern  rebuke 
to  them,  that  though  they  should  succeed  in  their 
cause,  which  he  felt  confident  they  would  not,  they 
would  feel  like  the  guilty  thane ; 

"  This  Duncan 
Hath  borne  his  faculties  so  meek,  hath  been 
So  clear  in  his  great  office,  that  his  virtues 
Will  plead  like  angels,  trumpet-tongued,  against 
The  deep  damnation  of  his  taking  off." 

This  quotation,  the  name  and  circumstances  being 


44  WILLIAM  WIRT. 

so  appropriate,  was  made  with  such  oratorical  effect 
that  there  was  a  deep  silence  when  Mr.  Wirt  took 
his  seat,  which  was  succeeded  by  repeated  out- 
breaks of  applause.      Mr.  Wirt  gained  the  case. 

As  an  author,  Mr.  Wirt's  merits  are  very  high. 
His  "British  Spy"  contains  sketches  of  some  of 
our  first  men,  drawn  with  a  graphic  power,  which 
makes  us  regret  that  he  did  not  oftener  direct  his 
fine  mind  to  the  delineation  of  character.  He  was 
eminently  calculated  for  a  biographer.  His  high 
tone  of  moral  feeling  would  have  prevented  him 
from  becoming  the  apologist  of  vice,  no  matter 
how  high  were  its  endowments;  while  his  great 
admiration  of  virtue  and  talent  would  have  made 
him  the  enthusiastic  eulogist  of  those  qualifications 
which  render  biography  so  attractive  and  so  useful. 
The  great  fault  of  his  "Life  of  Patrick  Henry"  is 
exaggeration.  His  mind  became  heated  and  in- 
flated as  he  contemplated  the  excellences  of  Henry 
as  an  orator  and  a  man,  and  he  overcolored  that 
which,  told  with  more  simplicity,  would  have  been 
more  striking.  The  effects  of  Henry's  eloquence 
being  so  wonderful  in  themselves,  would,  narrated 
in  a  plainer  way,  have  more  forcibly  struck  the 
mind.  What  they  borrowed  from  the  poetry  of  the 
biographer  seems 

"  Like  gilding  refined  gold,  painting  the  lily, 
Or  throwing  a  perfume  on  the  violet." 


WILLIAM  WIRT.  45 

Mr.  Wirt's  "  Old  Bachelor"  is  deserving  of  high 
commendation.  It  is  written  in  numbers,  after  the 
manner  of  the  "Spectator,"  "Guardian,"  and  "Ad- 
venturer," and  has  much  of  the  eloquence  of  style 
which  has  contributed  so  largely  to  the  popularity 
of  those  celebrated  works.  It  treats  of  various  sub- 
jects— oratory,  poetry,  morality,  &c. — and  abounds 
in  reflections  happily  suited  to  the  condition  of 
young  men  who  are  entering  the  learned  pro- 
fessions. It  is  not  sparse  of  wit,  while  it  shows 
the  author's  familiar  acquaintance  with  the  old 
worthies  of  English  literature,  those  who  drank  of 
the  "  well  of  English  undefiled.5' 

It  should  not  be  neglected  to  be  said  of  Mr. 
Wirt  that  he  was  one  of  those  who,  in  early  life, 
from  the  pressure  of  an  unfriended  condition  upon 
a  mind  of  excessive  sensitiveness,  fell  for  awhile 
into  reckless  despondency,  alternated  by  wayward 
fits  of  intellectual  energy,  which  had  an  unfor- 
tunate influence  upon  his  habits.  Such  has  been 
the  situation  of  men  like  him,  who  had  the  "  fatal 
gift,"  without  any  other  gift — no  friendly  hand,  no 
cheering  voice.  Alas !  the  records  of  genius,  for 
wretchedness,  are  surpassed  only  by  the  records  of 
the  lunatic  asylum ;  in  fact,  its  history  often  illus- 
trates and  deepens  the  saddest  story  on  the  ma- 
niac's wall.  But,  to  the  glory  of  Mr.  Wirt,  it  is 
known  that  his  energies  prevailed — that  friends 
came — that  religious   trust,   which   had  formerly 


46  WILLIAM  WIRT. 

visited  him  like  the  fitful  wanderings  of  a  perturbed 
spirit,  at  last  made  her  home  by  his  hearth,  where 
a  beautiful  and  gifted  family  grew  up  around  him, 
until,  full  of  years  and  full  of  honors,  and  the  faith 
that  is  beyond  them,  he  was  gathered  to  his  fathers. 

When  contemplating  the  moral  and  intellectual 
character  of  Mr.  Wirt,  it  has  been  regretted  that 
he  did  not  turn  away  from  the  thorny  paths  of  the 
law,  and  devote  the  whole  force  of  his  mind  to 
general  literature;  but  how. could  he,  with  the  poor 
rewards  of  literature,  support  those  nearest  and 
dearest  to  him?  Yet,  had  circumstances  allowed 
him  to  do  so,  he  would  have  been  one  of  the  first 
literary  men  of  our  country. 

I  have  frequently  heard  Mr.  Wirt  when  opposed 
to  some  of  our  eminent  men,  and  this  slight  sketch 
is  drawn  from  opinions  then  entertained  and  ex- 
pressed. I  presented,  while  he  lived,  the  tribute 
of  my  admiration,  not  to  the  politician,  not  to  the 
candidate  for  the  presidency,  but  to  the  author  of 
the  "British  Spy,"  "The  Old  Bachelor,"  "The 
Life  of  Henry,''  a  great  lawyer,  an  acute  states- 
man, a  consummate  advocate,  and  last,  though  not 
least,  an  honest  man;  and,  now  that  he  is  dead,  I 
would  fain  garner  a  testimonial  to  his  memory 
worthy  of  him,  but  the  will  must  be  taken  for  the 
deed. 


REV.  HENRY  B.  BASCOM. 


When  this  gentleman  was  in  the  full  tide  of  his 
pulpit  popularity  in  the  West,  a  young  lady  friend 
of  mine,  in  Kentucky,  offered  to  take  me  in  her 
carriage  to  a  camp-meeting,  a  few  miles  from  her 
residence,  to  hear  the  distinguished  orator.  I 
gladly  consented,  both  for  the  sake  of  the  company 
of  my  fair  companion  and  for  the  pleasure  of  hear- 
ing Mr.  Bascom. 

When  a  lad,  I  had  heard  this  gentleman  and  the 
lamented  Summerfield,  and  I  had  been  struck  with 
the  dissimilar  but  great  powers  of  both  preachers. 

Summerfield's  eloquence  was  the  summer  morn- 
ing's sunshine,  with  its  dew  and  flower  ;  Bascom's 
the  lurid  light  and  flashings  of  the  tempest.  One 
preached  the  love  and  the  other  the  terrors  of  the 
Gospel.  Summerfield's  attractiveness  seemed  that 
of  another  world,  and  his  exceeding  naturalness 
and  the  absence  of  all  apparent  effort  were  re- 
markable. Bascom  was  full  of  pith,  and  point,  and 
preparation ;  he  poured  forth  sentence  after  sen- 


48  KEV.  HENRY  B.  BASCOM. 

tence  of  intense  elaboration.  To  borrow,  not  in- 
correctly, a  phrase  from  the  theatre  in  relation  to 
the  stage  efforts  of  Forrest,  he  "  piled  the  agony 
up''  fearfully — so  fearfully  as  to  make  the  hearer 
fear  he  would  never  get  down,  except  by  tumbling. 
It  was  whip  and  spur  from  the  word  go.  His  style 
and  manner  reminded  one  very  much  of  Mary- 
land's most  distinguished  orator,  Pinkney. 

The  almost  beardless  chin  and  pallid  coun- 
tenance of  Summerfield  contrasted,  again,  with  the 
flashing  eye,  the  ruddy  cheek,  and  the  black  beard 
of  Bascom. 

My  lady  friend,  though  a  rigid  Episcopalian, 
was  a  great  admirer  of  Mr.  Bascom.  She  thought 
he  would  look  so  well  in  the  gown,  and  that  he 
would  read  the  service  so  eloquently.  She  said 
she  felt  like  presenting  him  a  gown,  anyhow. 
Mr.  Wesley  and  Mr.  Whitefield  always  preached 
in  a  gown,  and  she  could  not  see  why  he  did  not. 
She  was  warm  in  her  eulogies  of  his  personal  inde- 
pendence, and  dwelt  particularly  upon  the  fashion 
of  his  toilet,  and  how  becomingly  his  apparel  fit 
his  manly  form.  She  thought  him  the  handsomest 
man  she  had  ever  seen,  and  wondered  why  he 
smoked  so  many  cigars — and,  above  all,  how  he 
could  chew  so  much  tobacco  !  She  said  that,  un- 
like every  other  popular  preacher  she  had  ever 
known,  he  seemed  to  be  indifferent  to  the  admira- 
tion of  her  sex,  and  that  he  certainly  had  no  ad- 


REV.  HENRY  B.  BASCOM.  49 

dress  in  ladies'  society.  This  she  liked,  as  she 
thought  it  proved  his  sincerity.  She  then  told  the 
anecdote  of  some  rich  lady  (she  was  rich  herself, 
and  wondered  how  any  woman  could  so  unsex  her- 
self), who  offered  him  her  purse,  heart,  and  hand ; 
and  that  his  reply  was,  that  "she  had  better  give 
her  purse  to  the  poor,  her  heart  to  God,  and  her 
hand  to  him  that  asked  for  it."  I  told  her  that  I 
had  heard  the  same  story  of  Summerfield  and 
others.  She  replied  that  Summerfield  had  too  little 
of  this  earth  about  him  to  inspire  such  an  offer, 
and  was  too  gentle  ("gentlemanly?"  some  one 
asked;  no,  gentle,  she  repeated)  to  make  such  a 
reply,  though  she  thought  it  the  very  one  for  the 
occasion — a  Christian  rebuke  ! 

How  she  delighted  to  talk  of  the  orator,  and  she 
was  so  proud  that  he  was  a  Kentuckian.  She  said 
the  Conference  had  kept  him  for  years  itinerating 
about  in  the  "knobs"  of  Kentucky,  to  take  the 
pride  out  of  him,  particularly  the  pride  of  dress, 
but  that  he  would  make  his  advent  from  the  wilds 
into  Frankfort  or  Lexington,  with  as  exquisite  a 
toilet,  as  if  he  had  just  left  the  shop  of  a  fashion- 
able tailor.  She  said  he  had  been  taken  to  task 
for  his  dress  by  some  Quarterly  Conference,  and 
that  he  had  replied  to  them  that  if  they  should  cut 
a  hole  through  a  blanket,  and  put  it  over  him,  that 
he  should  still  be  Henry  B.  Bascom ;  that  dress 
was  no  part  of  his  religion,  and  if  it  was  of  theirs, 
5 


50  REV.  HENRY  B.  BASCOM. 

it  was  well  for  them  to  look  to  their  habiliments  ; 
that  he  had  no  idea  of  what  a  religious  hat,  or  a 
religious  pair  of  boots  was.  Here,  again,  he  was 
in  contrast  with  Summerfield,  who,  upon  some 
"weak  brother's"  finding  fault  with  a  seal  he  wore, 
abolished  it,  and  wore  nothing  but  the  ribbon. 

In  this  pleasant  chat,  for  the  lady  talked  well, 
and  in  fact  the  Kentucky  ladies  generally  have 
more  conversational  talent  than  any  other  ladies 
in  the  Union,  we  approached  the  camp.  It  was 
pitched  on  the  gentle  slope  of  a  hill,  at  the  foot  of 
which  a  broad  branch  rippled,  and  the  white  tents 
and  the  crowd  of  people  presented  a  most  pic- 
turesque appearance.  We  were  late,  for  we  heard 
the  bold  tones  of  the  orator  ringing  through  the 
woods  in  the  highest  note  of  declamation.  We 
thought  we  should  have  been  early,  for  it  was  un- 
derstood that  it  was  at  night  the  orator  was  to  ad- 
dress the  multitude.  The  sun  was  about  half  an 
hour  from  his  setting,  and  we  hurried  from  the 
carriage  to  the  place  of  worship. 

A  dense  crowd  occupied  the  whole  space,  not 
only  in  front  of  the  pulpit,  but  all  around  it,  and, 
with  my  fair  friend  leaning  upon  my  arm,  we  had 
to  take  a  stand  on  the  outskirts,  and  catch  the 
intellectual  manna,  which  fell  in  the  wilderness,  as 
we  might.  We,  however,  heard  and  saw  the  orator 
distinctly.  His  appearance,  manner,  and  eloquence 
were  magnificent  and  sublime,  as,  with  the  Bible 


REV.  HENRY  B.  BASCOM.  51 

raised  aloft  in  his  hand,  he  described  the  spread  of 
the  Gospel  in  heathen  lands.  We  listened,  like  the 
rest  of  the  audience,  in  rapt  attention  for  ten  or 
fifteen  minutes,  when,  as  he  laid  the  Bible  down 
and  paused  for  a  moment,  my  fair  friend  at  my 
side  exclaimed,  in  a  glow  of  admiration: — 

"  He  is,  indeed,  a  prince  in  Israel." 

And  I  thought  so,  too.  In  one  bright  spot  the 
setting  sun  was  flashing  through  the  quivering 
leaves,  throwing  over  his  breast,  and  brow,  and 
countenance,  a  halo  of  living  light. 

The  orator  gloriously  alluded  to  the  departing 
luminary,  whose  rising  beams,  he  said,  enabled  the 
missionary  to  read  the  Word  of  God  to  the  heathen 
of  the  farthest  East  in  his  own  language,  and  whose 
setting  beams  flashed  upon  the  blazonry  of  the 
Bible,  bearing  civilization  and  Christianity  to  the 
farthest  West. 

Mr.  Bascom  has  been  brought  particularly  to  my 
mind  in  reading  a  volume  of  sermons  which  he  has 
lately  published.  It  appears,  by  his  preface,  that 
he  "commenced  preaching  when  he  was  but  sixteen 
years  old." 

One  would  not  think  so,  to  read  his  sermons.  He 
has  none  of  the  cant  (I  use  the  word  not  disrespect- 
fully) of  the  trained  preacher  about  him — nothing 
of  "mere  pulpit  patois,"  to  use  his  own  phrase,  in 
speaking  in  this  connection.  He  seems  studiously 
to  avoid  it.     In  his  preface  he  says : — ■ 


52  REV.  HENRY  B.  BASCOM. 

"  The  author  has  long  been  impressed  with  the 
idea,  perhaps  he  should  say  conviction,  that  the 
force  and  value  of  pulpit  instruction  are  greatly 
lessened  by  the  restraints  and  mannerism  of  pulpit 
style,  arising  mainly,  perhaps,  from  undue  attach- 
ments to  creeds,  confessions,  and  church  formu- 
laries, as  the  tests  and  standards  of  truth  and 
uniformity  among  different  denominations  of  Christ- 
ians, and  the  vicious  standards  of  critical  judg- 
ments already  referred  to.  The  natural,  manly, 
and  varied  freedom  of  expression  found  in  the 
Bible,  and  preserved,  in  greater  or  less  degree,  in 
all  its  translations  into  different  languages,  is  laid 
aside,  and  gives  place  to  the  staidness  and  preci- 
sion of  an  exclusive  technical  phraseology,  and 
often  having  all  the  essential  characteristics  of  a 
mere  pulpit  patois.  And  on  this  account  alone, 
with  or  without  reason,  the  pulpit  too  often 
becomes  to  the  hearer  a  mere  limbo  of  common- 
place, from  which  he  turns  away  with  indifference, 
if  not  disgust." 

These  remarks  are  strong,  but  they  are  truthful, 
and  Mr.  Bascom  has  not  certainly  fallen  into 
the  error.  With  the  hackneyed  phrases  too  often 
heard  in  the  pulpit,  he  has  nothing  to  do  whatever. 
Though  he  is  often  too  ornate,  and  too  fond  of 
antithesis  and  alliteration,  it  is  evident  that  the 
vast  storehouse  of  literature,  both  sacred  and  pro- 
fane, has  furnished  his  supply.      He  makes  few 


REV.  HENRY  B.  BASCOM.  53 

quotations,  even  from  the  Bible,  except  when  he  is 
establishing  some  very  particular  point  by  Divine 
authority ;  but  he  boldly  and  bravely  expatiates 
upon  the  subject  as  it  strikes  his  own  mind.  The 
volume  before  us  is  full  of  beauties,  and  it  certainly 
has  some  startling  defects.  Almost  all  speakers 
have  some  pet  words,  which  they  drag  in  upon  all 
occasions,  and  Mr.  Bascom  is  no  small  transgressor 
in  this  way.  He  is  fond,  very,  of  the  words  "an- 
tagonism" and  "adumbrating;"  and  he  has  taken 
the  liberty  of  coining  words,  too,  passing  his  coun- 
terfeits with'  the  king's  English,  for  which  Dr. 
Johnson  would  find  him  guilty  without  benefit  of 
clergy.  Some  of  his  phrases,  too,  are  against  all 
taste  ;  for  instance :  "  The  smile  of  infidelity 
transformed  to  a  groan  in  the  very  act  of  parturi- 
tion," &c. 

It  is  to  be  hoped  that  Mr.  Bascom  will  never 
give  birth  to  such  a  phrase  as  that  again,  but  let  it 
die  like  the  "smile  of  infidelity"  aforesaid.  But 
away  with  fault-finding — this  volume  of  "  Sermons 
from  the  Pulpit"  abounds  with  aphoristic  thoughts 
and  pages  of  burning  eloquence.  Speaking  of  the 
duties  of  the  preacher,  he  says:  "  He  should  teach 
all,  with  unwearied  urgency  of  appeal,  that  life  is 
an  orbit,  through  which  mortality  can  pass  but 
once ;  that  it  is  but  an  hour-glass,  and  that  every 
sand  ought  to  be  a  pious  deed  or  a  virtuous 
thought." 


54  REV.  HENRY  B.  BASCOM. 

Again,  he  says  :  "  Honest  severity  in  the  pulpit 
is  like  the  lightning  of  heaven— it  makes  holy  what 
it  scathes.  It  resembles  the  thunderbolt,  passing 
through  tainted  exhalations  but  to  purify  them." 
"  Every  day  you  live  without  repentance,  say,  with 
the  startled  emperor  of  antiquity,  '  I  have  lost  a 
day,'  and  say,  '  with  the  blessing  of  God,  I  will 
never  lose  another.' '  Speaking  of  heaven,  he 
says :  "  Ours  m*ay  be  the  only  prodigal  in  the 
great  family  of  worlds;  and,  after  due  time  and 
trial,  all  may  meet  in  this  vast  region." 

But  I  must  not  make  this  article  too  long. 
Pages  of  great  beauty,  as  has  been  said,  might  be 
quoted  from  these  "  Sermons  from  the  Pulpit," 
with  the  disfigurement  here  and  there  of  a  tor- 
tured phrase,  or  a  noun  pressed  to  do  duty  as  a 
verb,  "adumbrating"  upon  us  in  "antagonism" 
to  all  taste ;  but,  after  all,  "  de  gustibus,"  &c. 
And,  again,  after  all,  the  preacher  has  been  one 
of  the  great  lights  of  his  church  in  his  day,  without 
one  particle  of  cant  in  his  conduct  or  character, 
and  as  little  "pulpit  patois"  in  his  preachings. 
He  is  a  frank,  fearless,  and  consistent  Christian, 
with  this  high  praise,  that  his  piety  is  commended 
most  by  those  who  know  him  best. 

Possessing  the  power  to  draw  the  unthinking 
and  the  foolishly-fashionable  to  the  Methodist 
meeting-house,  with  the  learned  and  the  pious  of 
every  shade  of  opinion  and  variety  of  creed,  and 


REV.  HENRY  B.  BASCOM.  55 

of  impressing  multitudes,  not  only  with  the  force 
of  his  talents,  but  with  the  truth  of  his  faith,  he 
has  proved  to  the  world  that  a  preacher  may  pre- 
sent himself  in  society,  in  dress  and  address,  an 
accomplished,  high-toned,  and  high-bred  gentle- 
man, and  yet  be  a  Puritan  in  his  morals  and  con- 
duct ;  nay,  more,  a  Methodist. 


DEATH  OF  BISHOP  BASCOM. 

We  learn  with  great  regret  the  death  of  Bishop 
Henry  B.  Bascom,  one  of  the  Bishops  of  the 
Methodist  Episcopal  Church  South,  who  died  on 
Sunday  last,  at  the  residence  of  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Stevinson,  in  Louisville,  Ky.,  where  he  had  been 
a  long  time  ill. 

Bishop  Bascom's  illness  arose  from  a  bilious 
fever  caught  in  Missouri  some  time  since,  while  on 
his  first  tour  of  duty  in  his  office  of  bishop. 

Bishop  Bascom's  place  in  the  Church  South 
cannot  easily  be  filled.  He  was  a  man  of  great 
energy,  of  great  talents,  of  great  fearlessness,  and, 
in  the  matter  of  the  church  difficulty  between  the 
North  and  South,  having  taken  sides  with  the 
South,  he  stood  forth  her  admitted  leader.  The 
celebrated  pamphlet  on  the  subject,  setting  forth 
the  grounds  which  the  South  meant  to  maintain  in 
the  premises,  was  from  the  pen  of  Bishop  Bascom, 


56  REV.  HENHY  B.  BASCOM. 

and  was  full  of  point,  argument,  and  energetic 
declamation. 

Bishop  Bascom  was  also  editor  of  the  Review, 
which  was  published  under  the  auspices  of  the 
Methodist  Church  in  the  West,  and  he  contributed 
many  powerful  articles  to  it.  But  it  was  as  a 
pulpit  orator  that  Bishop  Bascom  shone.  His 
style  as  a  writer  was  too  stilty  and  too  ornate  ;  it 
wanted  ease  and  naturalness.  He  was  always  for 
saying  keen  things,  and  wanted  repose  of  style,  if 
the  expression  may  be  used.  This  same  fault,  in 
a  measure,  followed  him  into  the  pulpit.  He  was 
never  content  unless  he  was  in  the  upper  region, 
like  the  spirit  of  the  storm,  wielding  the  lightning 
and  speaking  in  the  thunder.  That  varied  grace- 
fulness and  self-command  which  distinguish  his 
early  and  his  fast  friend,  Mr.  Clay,  that  graceful- 
ness which,  like  the  swallow,  now  skims  the  lake 
and  now  darts  into  the  cloud,  Mr.  Bascom  had 
not. 

He  wanted  naturalness.  He  blazed,  and  corrus- 
cated,  and  startled,  but  he  seldom  melted  his  audi- 
ence. Wonder  and  admiration  often  impressed  them, 
but  the  tear  seldom  followed.  But  in  denunciation, 
in  scorn,  in  the  terrors  of  the  law,  he  was  fearful. 
He  could  seize  infidelity  by  the  throat  and  shake 
the  life  out  of  it ;  or  he  could  hurl  against  it  the 
wrath  of  Divine  vengeance  until  it  would  call  on 
the  mountains  to  cover  it  from  an  angry  judge : 


REV.  HENRY  B.  BASCOM.  57 

but  he  could  not  melt  it  into  hopeful  and  penitent, 
yet  trusting,  tears.  He  had  great  elevation  and 
expansion  of  mind,  and  delighted  to  expatiate  with 
unfettered  and  uneircumscribed  wing.  He  loved 
to  dwell  upon  the  beatitude  of  the  saved,  or  the 
unutterable  misery  of  the  lost ;  and,  in  this  last 
category,  the  heedless,  and  the  reckless,  and  the 
criminal,  would  look  as  if  the  clinched  fist  of  the 
preacher  was  stamping  on  their  foreheads  their 
inevitable  doom. 

Bishop  Bascom  was  a  man  of  remarkable  per- 
sonal beauty  and  manliness.  He  had  the  ample 
chest  which  almost  all  orators  have ;  a  rounded 
neck  supported  a  head  of  classic  mould;  thin,  dark 
hair,  cut  close,  shaded  not  at  all  his  ample  fore- 
head, which  projected  like  a  wall ;  his  eyes  were 
of  dazzling  blackness,  and  quailed  not  before 
power,  position,  or  wealth ;  on  the  contrary,  they 
quailed  before  him. 

He  has  been  heard  to  say  that  the  only  eye  he 
ever  met  with,  which  made  him  feel  its  power,  was 
that  of  Aaron  Burr ;  that,  on  one  occasion,  when 
that  fallen  spirit  was  pointed  out  to  him  in  New 
York,  he  stopped  and  gazed  at  him  with  a  curiosity 
which  forgot  its  courtesy,  when  the  offended  and 
piercing  glance  which  Burr  cast  on  him  caused  him 
to  pass  on,  hurriedly  and  abashed.  Bishop  Bascom 
had  a  brilliant  color,  indicating  the  highest  health, 
and,  at  the  same  time,  a  temperament  of  a  bilious 


58  KEV.  HENRY  B.  BASCOM. 

tendency.  It  has  been  often  remarked  that  he 
looked  very  much  like  Mr.  Webster,  though  he  was 
a  much  handsomer  man,  without  that  look  of 
massive  intellectuality  in  which  the  great  consti- 
tutional expounder  surpasses  all  other  men. 

Bishop  Bascom  was  remarkably  fastidious  in  his 
toilet,  and,  like  Whitefield,  set  off  his  person  to 
advantage. 

Many  anecdotes  are  told  of  him,  and  some  of  the 
more  rigid  of  his  church,  in  this  matter;  but  he 
did  not  obey  the  precept  of  St.  Paul,  and  paid  no 
respect  to  their  "  weakness.''  He  was  fond  of 
telling  the  story  that  an  old  Dutch  Methodist,  who 
did  not  know  him,  and  at  whose  house  he  was  to 
stop  on  his  way  to  fulfil  his  appointment,  said  to 
him,  on  learning  who  he  was:  "Well,  if  I  had 
loaded  my  rifle  to  shoot  a  Methodist  preacher,  I 
never  should  have  snapped  at  you!" 

There  was  none  of  that  preciseness  about  him 
which  is  so  often  remarked  in  the  bearing  of  a 
minister;  on  the  contrary,  it  almost  seemed,  so 
marked  was  his  bearing  to  the  contrary,  that  he 
somewhat  affected  a  don't-care  of  manner.  In  his 
pulpit  efforts  he  avoided  everything  like  what  is 
called  cant,  and  what  he  called  patois.  All  his 
life,  he  said,  he  had  endeavored  to  avoid  it ;  he 
certainly  succeeded.  He  seemed  like  a  statesman 
or  lawyer,  whom  the  stern  reflection  of  Paul,  "Woe 
is  me  if  I  preach  not  the  Gospel  of  Christ,"    had 


REV.  HENRY  B.  BASCOM.  59 

driven,  duty- called,  into  the  pulpit.  And  there  he 
stood,  and  there  gloriously  he  fulfilled  his  mission. 
It  was  Methodism  in  earnest  to  hear  Bishop  Bas- 
com  preach,  and  Methodism  which  Chesterfield 
would  have  been  compelled  to  respect,  if  but  for 
the  high  and  courtly,  yet  Christian  bearing  of  its 
advocate.  He  was  the  son  of  thunder,  and,  like 
St.  Paul,  he  bore  himself  to  the  enemies  of  his  faith 
bravely,  yet  with  a  touch  of  consummate  address, 
like  the  apostle  before  Festus.  Bishop  Bascom 
has  fulfilled  his  mission ;  he  has  been  true  to  him- 
self and  to  his  church,  and  to  its  Great  Head,  and 
it  is  earnestly  hoped  that  some  biographer  may  be 
selected  by  his  friends,  capable  of  doing  justice  to 
his  memory. 


A  VISIT  TO  SIMON  KENTON, 

THE    LAST    OF    THE    PIONEERS. 


"  An  active  hermit,  even  in  age  the  child 
Of  nature,  or  the  man  of  Ross,  run  wild." — Byron. 

Falling,  the  other  day,  accidentally  upon  By- 
ron's beautiful  lines  in  "  Don  Juan,"  on 

"  General  Boone,  backwoodsman  of  Kentucky," 

I  thought,  as  I  dwelt  upon  their  freshness — fresh 
as  the  forests  and  the  character  which  is  his 
theme — of  a  visit  which  I  paid  some  years  ago  to 
Boone's  contemporary  and  similar,  Simon  Kenton, 
who  died  shortly  afterwards,  and  I  determined  to 
fill  out  a  slight  sketch  then  made  of  him.  One 
bright  morning  in  October,  I  think  '34,  after  a 
hearty  breakfast  on  venison,  with  the  becoming 
appliances  of  cranberry-jelly,  and  all  the  et  ceteras 
of  a  luxurious  meal,  such  as  you  often  get  in  the 
western  country,  and  which  our  kind  hostess  of 


A  VISIT  TO  SIMON  KENTON.  61 

West  Liberty,  Ohio,  had,  according  to  the  promises 
of  the  previous  evening,  prepared  for  us  by  day- 
dawn,  my  friend  and  myself  started  from  that  vil- 
lage on  our  way  to  Bellefontaine,  resolved  to  call 
and  pay  our  respects — the  respects  of  strangers 
and  travellers — to  the  old  pioneer,  who,  we  were 
informed,  dwelt  some  thirty  miles  from  our  where- 
abouts. 

It  was  a  glorious  Indian-summer  morning.  The 
day  was  just  dawning  as  we  started,  and  the  thick 
haze,  which  characterizes  this  season  of  the  year, 
enveloped  the  whole  landscape,  but,  without  con- 
cealing, made  it  just  indistinct  enough  for  the  ima- 
gination to  group  and  marshal  hill,  prairie,  tree, 
and  stream,  in  a  manner  agreeable  to  our  feelings. 
The  haze  rested  on  the  face  of  nature  like  a  veil 
over  a  sleeping  beauty,  disclosing  enough  of  her 
features  to  charm,  without  dazzling  us  with  the 
flash  of  her  eye,  which  makes  us  shrink  while  we 
admire. 

A  vast  prairie  extended  on  our  right,  through 
which  loitered  a  lazy  stream,  as  if  it  lingered,  loath 
to  leave  the  fertile  soil  which  embosomed  it.  A 
silvery  mist  hung  over  it,  making  it  appear  like  a 
great  lake.  Here  and  there,  arising  from  the  im- 
mense body  of  the  prairie,  were  what  are  called 
islands — that  is,  great  clumps  of  trees,  covering 
sometimes  many  acres,  appearing  just  like  so 
many  islands  in  an  outstretched  ocean.  One,  I 
6 


62  A  VISIT  TO  SIMON  KENTON. 

observed,  was  peculiarly  striking  ;  it  was  a  natural 
mound  rising  out  of  the  prairie,  and  was  covered 
with  a  dense  wood,  while  around  it  the  plain  ex- 
tended far  and  wide,  and  was  as  level  as  a  floor. 

As  the  day  dawned,  the  scene  became  more  and 
more  enchanting.  The  sun  blazed  up  through  the 
forest-trees  that  skirted  the  prairie,  like  a  beacon- 
fire.  Those  of  the  trees  which  were  earliest  touched 
by  the  frost,  and  had  lost  their  foliage,  seemed  like 
so  many  warriors  stretching  forth  their  arms  in 
mortal  combat;  while  the  fallen  ones,  which  lay  in 
their  huge  length  upon  the  ground,  might  easily 
be  fancied  so  many  braves,  who  were  realizing  the 
poet's  description  of  a  contest: — 

"Few  shall  part,  where  many  meet/7 

Then  my  fancy  caught  another  impression.  I 
thought,  as  I  looked  upon  the  tranquil  scene,  the 
wide  prairie,  the  sheep  browsing  on  it,  the  gentle 
stream,  the  mist  curling  up,  the  towering  trees, 
the  distant  hills,  the  blue  smoke  ascending  here 
and  there  from  a  rustic  dwelling,  all  looking  tran- 
quillity, that  Peace  had  lighted  her  altar,  and  all 
nature  was  worshipping  the  Being  whose  blessings 
were  upon  all.  The  rich  tint  of  those  trees  which 
still  retained  their  foliage,  added  to  the  beauty 
and  oneness  of  the  scene,  and,  in  gilding  the 
picture,  harmonized  with  it. 

On  our  left,  a  hill  ascended  abruptly,  covered 


A  VISIT  TO  SIMON  KENTON.  63 

with  tall  trees,  which,  in  some  places,  were  remark- 
ably clear  of  underwood,  and  in  others  choked  up 
with  it.  The  undergrowth,  from  its  great  luxu- 
riance where  it  did  appear,  seemed  emulous  of  the 
height  of  its  neighbors.  At  the  foot  of  the  hill, 
and  winding  around  it,  lay  our  road;  sometimes  it 
would  ascend  the  hill's  side  to  the  very  summit, 
and  then  abruptly  descend  to  the  very  foot.  This 
gave  us  a  full  view  of  the  surrounding  scenery.  It 
was  beautiful.  To  me,  like  that  of  another  world, 
coming,  as  I  did,  from  the  contagious  breath  of  the 
city,  where  disease  and  death  were  spread,  wide  as 
the  atmosphere,  for  I  had  just  left  Cincinnati, 
where  the  cholera  was  raging.  The  bustle  of  busi- 
ness ;  the  hum  of  men  ;  the  discordant  noises ;  the 
dusty  streets ;  the  sameness  and  dingy  red  of  the 
houses ;  the  smoky  and  impure  atmosphere ;  the 
frequent  hearse ;  the  hurrying  physician ;  the 
many  in  black  ;  were  all  remembered  in  contrast 
with  this  bright  scene  of  nature.  I  caught  myself 
almost  unconsciously  repeating  the  lines  of  the 
poet: — 

"Oh,  how  canst  thou  renounce  the  boundless  store 
Of  charms,  which  Nature  to  her  votary  yields  ! 
The  warbling  woodland,  the  resounding  shore, 
The  pomp  of  groves,  the  garniture  of  fields  ; 
All  that  the  genial  ray  of  morning  gilds, 
And  all  that  echoes  to  the  song  of  even ; 
All  that  the  mountain's  sheltering  bosom  shields, 
And  all  the  dread  magnificence  of  heaven; 
Oh,  how  canst  thou  renounce,  and  hope  to  be  forgiven?" 


64  A  VISIT  TO  SIMON  KENTON. 

I  felt  at  once  why  I  had  been  an  invalid.  I  had 
been  breathing  an  air  pregnant  with  all  sorts  of 
sickness;  was  it  any  wonder  I  was  sick?  I  had 
swallowed  a  whole  drug  shop — for  what  purpose  ? 
To  be  drugged  to  death ! 

Everything  in  this  world  takes  the  hue  of  our 
feelings.  A  few  weeks  previously  I  had  been  to  a 
wedding  in  Lebanon,  where  I  had  enjoyed  myself 
gloriously.  We  kept  it  up  till  "  'tween  the  late 
and  early,"  and  all  went  off  appropriately — 

"  As  merry  as  a  marriage  bell." 

The  next  morning  I  breakfasted  with  the  bewitch- 
ing bride  and  her  generous  lover,  and  then  away 
from  the  bridal  scene  in  a  hazy  rain,  over  horrible 
roads,  tossed  about  in  a  trundlebed  of  a  cariole, 
with  no  companion  but  my  crutch,  and  a  whole 
host  of  bachelor  reflections.  The  scene  was  sad 
everywhere.  I  passed  an  old  rooster  by  the  road- 
side. He  stood  alone,  dripping  wet,  with  not  a 
single  hen  near  him — chick  nor  child — like  a  grand 
Turk  who  had  been  upset  in  an  aquatic  excursion, 
and  had  quarrelled  with  his  whole  seraglio.  A  dog 
skulked  by  me  with  his  tail  between  his  legs,  look- 
ing, for  all  the  world,  as  if  he  had  been  sheep-kill- 
ing. How  desolate  the  girdled  trees  looked  !  As 
the  winds  whistled  through  their  leafless  branches, 
they  seemed  the  very  emblems  of  aspiring  man- 
hood, deprived  of  all  his  honors,  when  he  thought 


A  VISIT  TO  SIMON  KENTON.  65 

them  greenest,  yet  still  standing  with  the  world's 
blight  upon  him.  The  road  wound  about,  as  if  it 
had  business  all  through  the  woods ;  and  the 
long  miry  places  were  covered  with  rails,  to  pre- 
vent one  from  disappearing  altogether  !  What  jolt- 
ing !  zig-zag — this  way,  that  way,  every  way. 
Why,  Sancho  Panza,  when  tossed  in  the  blanket, 
enjoyed  perfect  luxury  in  the  comparison.  And 
when,  at  last,  I  did  get  upon  a  piece  of  road  that 
was  straight,  it  appeared  a  long  vista  leading  to 
utter  desolation.  The  turbid  streams  were  but 
emblems  of  the  lowering  sky.  They  looked  frown- 
ing on  each  other  like  foe  on  foe,  while  the  autumn 
leaves  fell  thick  around  me  like  summer  hopes. 
To-day  is  different — all  is  bright.  To-morrow  may 
be  cloudy — and  thus  wags  the  world. 

There  is  no  nobler  theme  for  the  novelist  and 
the  poet  than  the  stirring  incidents  of  the  first 
settlement  of  our  country.  The  muse  of  Scott  has 
made  his  country  appear  the  appropriate  place  for 
romantic  legend  and  traditionary  feud,  but  it  only 
wants  his  genius  to  make  our  country  more  than 
the  rival  of  his  in  that  respect.  The  field  here  is 
as  abundant,  and  almost  untrodden.  However,  I 
am  not  one  of  those  who  believe  that  legends  of 
the  olden  time  are  the  best  themes  for  the  novelist. 
If  he  would  describe  truly  the  manners,  virtues, 
and  vices  around  him  as  they  are,  he  would  win 
more  applause  than  in  the  description  of  other 
6* 


66  A  VISIT  TO  SIMON  KENTON. 

scenes ;  because  all  would  feel  the  truth  of  the  por- 
traiture. Scott  failed  in  describing  modern  man- 
ners in  "St.  Ronan's  Well."  Why?  Because  his 
affections  and  feelings  were  with  the  past ;  and 
those  ballads  and  romances  in  which  his  boyhood 
delighted,  exercised  over  his  imagination  a  con- 
trolling power ;  and  when  he  came  to  give  them  a 
"local  habitation  and  a  name,"  that  controlling 
power  was  manifest. 

But  who  of  Scott's  readers  has  not  regretted 
that  he  did  not  give  us  more  of  the  men  and  man- 
ners of  the  day  ?  If  he  had  thought  as  much  of 
them  as  of  baronial  and  other  periods;  and,  having 
studied,  had  attempted  to  paint  them  when  his  mind 
was  in  its  vigor,  he  would  have  succeeded  as  well 
as  in  "Ivanhoe,"  "Rob  Roy,"  or  the  "Crusaders." 
Fielding  could  describe  only  the  manners  around 
him,  because  he  had  thought  only  of  them.  Scott's 
imagination  had  a  feudal  bias,  and,  consequently, 
he  painted  that  period  best  when,  as  he  describes 
it— 

"  They  laid  down  to  rest, 

With  the  corslet  laced — 
Pillowed  on  buckler  cold  and  hard  ; 

They  carved  at  the  meal 

With  gloves  of  steel, 
And  drank  the  red  wine  through  the  helmet  barred." 

How  delightful  if  Scott  had  given  us  some  of 
the  scenes  which  he  witnessed  among  the  different 


A  VISIT  TO  SIMON  KENTON.  67 

circles  with  which  he  mingled.  In  such  scenes  he 
studied  human  nature,  it  is  true,  but  he  applied 
his  knowledge  in  describing  how  men  acted  in 
other  circumstances  than  those  in  which  he  saw 
them  act,  for  he  well  knew  that  the  truthful 
portraiture  finds  sympathy  in  every  breast.  He 
learned  the  whole  history  of  the  human  heart,  and 
then  gave  us  volumes  of  the  olden  time,  because 
there  his  imagination  feasted.  He  should,  some- 
times, have  shown  us  ourselves  as  we  are.  It 
seems  to  me  that  not  only  in  our  early  history  is 
there  a  wide  field  for  the  novelist,  but  that  in  our 
own  times  there  is  both  a  wider  and  a  better. 
What  a  great  variety  of  characters  in  our  country  ! 
Men  from  all  climes,  of  all  opinions,  parties,  sects. 
The  German,  Frenchman,  Englishman,  Russian, 
the  Backwoodsman,  the  Yankee,  and  the  South- 
erner, are  each  and  all  often  found  in  the  bar- 
room of  a  country  tavern.  To  one  who  likes  to 
observe  character,  what  enjoyment !  Why,  as 
Falstaff  would  say,  "it  is  a  play  extempore." 
And  then  to  quit  a  scene  like  this,  pass  a  few 
miles  from  one  of  these  towns,  and  be  right  into 
the  wilderness  ;  for  it  seems  a  wilderness  to  look 
around  on  the  deep  woods,  and  the  wild  prairie, 
and  see  no  marks  of  civilization  but  the  road  on 
which  you  travel.  How  the  mind  expands!  You 
look  up,  and  fancy  some  far-off  cloud  the  Great 
Spirit  looking  down  on  his  primeval  world,  in  all 


68  A  VISIT  TO  SIMON  KENTON. 

the  freshness  and  beauty  of  its  first  years.  The 
imagination  glows,  the  feelings  freshen,  the  affec- 
tions become  intense.  Rapidly,  then,  the  scenes  of 
our  boyhood  rush  upon  us — our  early  manhood,  our 
hopes,  our  fears,  the  lady  of  our  love,  the  objects 
of  our  ambition.  We  see  some  brilliant  bird  that 
we  have  started  from  its  perch  dart  off  in  the  blue 
ether,  and  thus  before  us  seems  the  world,  all  our 
own.  And  then  wre  enter  the  town,  and  behold 
the  vast  variety  of  human  beings  among  whom 
and  with  whom  we  have  to  struggle.  Here,  too, 
we  often  find  woman  loveliest  and  most  fascinating, 
a  flower  in  the  wilderness,  and  beautiful  both  in 
bud  and  in  bloom.  And  here  are  generous  and 
free  spirits,  who  wear  no  disguise  about  them, 
whose  feelings  spring  up,  like  the  eagle  from  its 
eyry,  in  natural  fearlessness.  The  change  is  en- 
joyment ;  one  fits  us  for  the  other.  In  solitude, 
we  think  over,  analyze,  and  examine  what  we  see 
in  the  world ;  and,  in  the  world,  the  reflections  and 
resolutions  of  solitude  strike  us  like  a  parental 
admonition. 

That  simplicity  which  Cooper  has  described  so 
well  in  the  character  of  Leatherstocking,  seems 
to  have  been  the  characteristic  of  the  early  pio- 
neers. It  has  been  my  good  luck  to  meet  with 
several  of  them.  One,  who  is  now  a  country 
squire,  and  of  course  far  advanced  in  years,  with 
whom  I  became  acquainted  in  the  interior  of  Ohio, 


A  VISIT  TO  SIMON  KENTON.  69 

frequently,  in  conversation  with  me,  dwelt  upon 
the  peculiarities  of  the  pioneers,  lamenting  with 
simplicity,  energy,  and  natural  eloquence,  which 
told  that  he  was  one  of  them,  the  "falling  off,"  as 
he  called  it,  of  the  present  times. 

"  Why,"  said  he  to  me,  "  if  you  will  believe  me, 
there  is  not  half  the  confidence  between  man  and 
man  that  there  used  to  be,  when  I  was  in  the  wil- 
derness here,  and  used  to  travel  to  the  different 
stations.  It  was  a  long  tramp,  I  tell  you ;  but 
you  might  rely  on  the  man  that  went  with  you,  to 
life  and  to  death,  just  as  you  would  on  your  rifle; 
and  then  you  rested  on  your  rifle,  and  looked  upon 
the  beauties  of  the  wilderness — and  the  wilderness 
is  beautiful  to  them  that  like  it — and  felt  that  you 
were  a  man.  Why,  I  could  do  everything  for  my- 
self, in  those  days — I  needed  no  help,  nohow.  I  tell 
you,  I  have  a  snug  farm,  and,  may-be,  some  things 
that  you  call  comforts,  but  I  shall  never  be  as  happy 
as  I  was  when  here  in  the  wilderness  with  my 
dog  and  rifle,  and  nothing  else.     No,  I  shall  never 

be  as  happy  again,  and  that's  a  fact.     Mr. , 

our  preacher,  preaches  a  good  sermon,  bating  a 
spice  of  Calvinism,  that  somehow  I  can't  relish  or 
believe  natural ;  but  he  can't  make  me  feel  like  I 
used  to — I  mean  with  such  a  reliance  on  Provi- 
dence— as  I  did  when  I  roused  up  in  the  morning, 
and  looked  out  on  the  beauties  of  nature,  just  as 
God  made  them.     You  find  fault  with  these  roads 


70  A  VISIT  TO  SIMON  KENTON. 

— and  I  know  the  travelling's  bad — I  thought  so 
myself  as  I  came  to  town — and  yet  I  used  to  travel 
through  the  wilderness  when  there  was  no  road  or 
town.  I  sometimes  felt  tired,  it's  true;  but  it  was 
not  the  weariness  I  feel  now  ;  no,  no  !  I  never 
shall  be  as  happy  as  I  was  in  the  wilderness,  and 
that's  a  fact." 

I  believe  I  have  repeated  the  very  words,  as  they 
fell  from  the  lips  of  the  fine  old  man.  I  was  much 
amused  with  his  opinion  of  novels. 

"Why,  I  am  told,"  he  said,  "that  a  man  will 
write  two  big  books,  and  not  a  word  of  truth  in 
'em  from  beginning  to  end.  Now  ain't  that  abomi- 
nable ?  To  tell  a  lie,  anyhow,  is  a  great  shame  ; 
but  to  write,  and  then  to  print  it,  is  what  I  never 
thought  of.  How  can  you  tell  it  from  truth,  if  he's 
an  ingenious  man  ?  It  looks  just  like  truth  when 
'tis  printed.  It  destroys  all  confidence  in  books. 
Judge  Jones  tells  me  that  there  was  a  man  called 
Scott,  who  has  written  whole  shelves  of  'em — what 
do  you  call  'em? — novels?  He  tells  me  he  was  a 
pretty  good  sort  of  a  man,  too,  with  a  good  deal 
of  the  briar  about  him.  I  read  one  of  them  books 
once,  that  I  liked,  I  suppose,  from  the  name ;  they 
called  it  the  '  Pioneers ;'  that's  the  reason  I  read 
it.  I  think  there  must  be  some  mistake;  you  may 
depend  on  it,  that  man  Leatherstocking  never 
could  have  known  so  much  about  the  wilderness 


A  VISIT  TO  SIMON  KENTON.  71 

and  the  ways  of  the  Ingins,  without  being  in  it 
and  among  'em." 

What  a  fine  compliment  to  the  powers  of  Cooper ! 
The  scenery  was  striking,  and,  as  we  passed  along, 
our  conversation  turned  of  course  upon  it,  and 
from  that  to  the  dark  forms  that  once  flitted 
through  it,  and  to  those  who  had  first  struggled 
with  the  red  man  for  its  possession ;  and  how  na- 
turally to  him  whom  we  were  going  to  visit,  who 
had  been  among  the  first  and  most  fearless  of  the 
pioneers,  and  who  was  now  lingering  the  last  of 
them. 

Simon  Kenton's  life  had  been  a  very  eventful 
one — perhaps  the  most  so  of  all  the  pioneers. 
Boone  has  been  more  spoken  of  and  written  about; 
but,  in  all  probability,  the  reason  is  because  he 
was  the  elder  man,  and  had  been  then  some  time 
dead. 

Kenton  was  a  Virginian  by  birth,  and,  I  believe, 
entirely  uneducated.  At  a  very  early  age  he  quar- 
relled with  a  rival  in  a  love  affair,  and,  after  an 
unsuccessful  conflict  with  him,  Kenton  challenged 
him  to  another,  and  was  getting  the  worst  of  it,  in 
a,  rough-and-tumble  fight ;  being  undermost,  and 
subject  to  the  full  rage  of  his  antagonist,  he  was 
much  injured,  when  it  occurred  to  him  that  if  he 
could  twist  his  rival's  hair,  which  was  very  long, 
in  a  bush  near  by,  he  could  punish  him  at  his 
leisure.    Crawling  to  the  point,  under  the  stunning 


72  A  VISIT  TO  SIMON  KENTON. 

blows  of  his  antagonist,  Kenton,  with  desperate 
energy,  seized  him  by  the  hair,  and  succeeded  in 
entangling  it  in  the  bush,  as  he  desired.  He  then 
pommelled  him  with  such  right  good-will,  that  he 
thought  he  had  killed  him.  Kenton,  fearing  the 
consequences,  instantly  absconded,  and  changed 
his  name  from  Simon  Butler,  which  was  his  real 
name,  to  Simon  Kenton.  He  pushed  for  the  West. 
There  he  joined  in  several  excursions  against  the 
savages,  and  was  several  times  near  being  taken  by 
them.  He  acted  as  a  spy  between  the  Indians  and 
the  colonies,  in  the  war  occasioned  by  the  murder 
of  Logan's  family.  After  many  adventures  and 
hardships,  he  was  taken  by  the  Indians,  in  pur- 
loining some  of  their  horses,  which,  in  retaliation, 
he  had  led  away  in  a  night  foray  into  one  of  their 
villages.  He  was  treated  with  great  cruelty ;  he 
ran  the  gauntlet  thirteen  times,  and  was  finally 
saved  from  torture  by  the  interference  of  Girty,  a 
renegade  white  man  who  had  joined  the  Indians, 
and  was  their  leader  in  many  of  their  attacks  on 
the  whites.  Kenton  and  Girty  had  been  friends, 
and  pledged  themselves  so  to  continue,  whatever 
changes  might  overtake  them,  before  Girty  aposta- 
tized. He,  with  all  his  savageness  and  treachery, 
was  true  to  Kenton.  This  is  but  the  caption  of  a 
chapter  in  Kenton's  life. 

After  journeying  for  some  time  through  thick 
woods,  in  which  there  were  innumerable  gray  and 


A  VISIT  TO  SIMON  KENTON.  73 

black  squirrels,  we  arrived  at  an  angle  of  a  worm- 
fence,  and  turned  off  into  a  swampy  road,  towards 
a  log  house,  in  which  we  were  told  the  old  pioneer 
lived.  The  house  was  comfortable  and  large  for 
one  of  its  kind.  On  stopping,  a  son-in-law  of  the 
old  worthy  met  us  at  the  bars;  and,  though  he 
knew  us  not,  with  the  hospitality  of  the  country 
he  insisted  on  putting  up  our  horses,  which  kind- 
ness we  were  compelled  to  decline,  as  we  could  not 
tarry  long.  As  we  advanced  towards  the  house,  I 
observed  everything  about  it  wore  the  air  of  frugal 
comfort. 

We  ascended  two  or  three  steps,  and  entered  the 
room,  in  which  was  a  matron,  who,  we  learned,  was 
the  wife  of  the  pioneer,  and,  seated  by  the  fire,  was 
the  old  worthy  himself.  He  rose  as  we  entered. 
Advancing  towards  him,  I  said:  "Mr.  Kenton,  we 
are  strangers,  who  have  read  often  of  you  and  your 
adventures,  and,  being  in  your  neighborhood,  we 
have  taken  the  liberty  to  call  and  see  you,  as  we 
are  anxious  to  know  one  of  the  first  and  the  last 
of  the  pioneers." 

The  old  pioneer  was  touched  and  gratified  by  the 
remark;  and,  while  shaking  hands  with  us,  he  said, 
"Take  seats,  take  seats;  I  am  right  glad  to  see 

you." 

We  sat  down,  and  immediately  entered  into 
conversation  with  him.  He  conversed  in  a  desul- 
tory manner,  and  often  had  to  make  an  effort  to 

7 


74  A  VISIT  TO  SIMON  KENTON. 

recollect  himself;  but,  when  he  did,  his  memory 
seemed  to  call  up  the  events  alluded  to,  and,  when 
asked  anything,  "  Well,  I'll  tell  you,"  he  would  say, 
and,  after  a  pause,  he  narrated  it.  I  have  stood  in 
the  presence  of  men  who  had  won  laurels  by  field 
and  flood,  in  the  senate,  at  the  bar,  and  in  the 
pulpit,  but  my  sensations  were  merely  those  of 
curiosity  ;  a  wish  to  know  if  the  impressions  which 
the  individual  made  upon  myself  corresponded  with 
the  accounts  given  of  him  by  others  ;  if  his  counte- 
nance told  his  passions,  and  if  the  capabilities  which 
he  possessed  could  be  read  in  him.  This  wish  to 
observe  prevents  all  other  sensations,  and  makes 
one  a  curious  but  cold  observer.  But  far  different 
were  my  feelings  as  I  looked  upon  the  bent  but 
manly  form  of  the  old  pioneer,  and  observed  his 
frank  and  fine  features.  Here,  thought  I,  is  a  man 
who,  if  human  character  were  dissected  with  a  cor- 
rect eye,  would  be  found  to  be  braver  than  many  a 
one  who  has  won  the  world's  eulogy  as  a  soldier. 
Who  cannot  be  brave,  with  all  the 

"  Pride,  pomp,  and  circumstance  of  glorious  war" 

about  him  ;  with  the  neighing  steed,  the  martial 
trump,  the  unfurled  banner,  the  great  army?  In 
such  a  scene,  the  leader  of  so  many  legions  finds 
in  the  very  excitement  bravery.  The  meanest  sol- 
dier catches  the  contagious  spark,  and  cowards 
fight  with  emulation.     But  think  of  a  man  alone 


A  VISIT  TO  SIMON  KENTON.  75 

in  the  wide,  wild  wilderness,  whom  a  love  of  adven- 
ture has  taken  there,  surrounded  by  wild  beasts 
and  savage  foes,  hundreds  of  miles  from  human  aid; 
yet  he  sleeps  calmly  at  night,  and  in  the  morning 
rises  to  pierce  farther  into  the  wilderness,  nearer  to 
those  savage  foes,  and  into  the  very  den  of  those 
wild  beasts.  How  calm  must  have  been  his  courage ! 
How  enduring  his  spirit  of  endurance !  In  the  deep 
solitude,  hushed  and  holy  as  the  Sabbath  day  of  the 
world,  he  stands,  with  a  self-reliance  that  nothing 
can  shake;  and  he  feels  in  the  balmy  air,  in  the  blue 
heavens,  in  the  great  trees,  in  the  tiny  flower,  in 
the  woods  and  in  the  waterfalls,  in  the  bird  and  in 
the  beast,  in  everything  and  in  all  things,  com- 
panionship. George  Washington  would  have  made 
such  a  pioneer. 

Kenton's  form,  even  under  the  weight  of  seventy 
years,  was  striking,  and  must  have  been  a  model  of 
manly  strength  and  agility.  His  eye  was  blue, 
mild,  and  yet  penetrating  in  its  glance.  The  fore- 
head projected  very  much  at  the  eyebrows  (which 
were  well  defined),  and  then  receded,  and  was  not 
very  high,  nor  very  broad ;  his  hair  had  been  a 
light  brown — it  was  then  nearly  all  gray ;  his  nose 
straight,  and  well  shaped ;  his  mouth,  before  he  lost 
his  teeth,  must  have  been  expressive  and  handsome. 
I  observed  that  he  had  one  tooth  left,  which,  taking 
into  consideration  his  character  and  manner  of 
conversation,    was    continually   reminding    me    of 


76  A  VISIT  TO  SIMON  KENTON. 

Leatherstocking.  The  whole  face  was  remarkably 
expressive,  not  of  turbulence  or  excitement,  but 
rather  of  rumination  and  self-possession.  Sim- 
plicity, frankness,  honesty,  and  a  strict  regard  to 
truth,  appeared  the  prominent  traits  of  his  cha- 
racter. In  giving  answer  to  a  question  which  my 
friend  asked  him,  I  was  particularly  struck  with 
his  truthfulness  and  simplicity.  The  question  was, 
whether  the  account  of  his  life  in  "  Sketches  of 
Western  Adventure"  was  true  or  not?  ""Well,  I'll 
tell  you,"  he  said,  "not  true.  The  book  says  that 
when  Blackfish,  the  Indian  warrior,  asked  me,  after 
they  had  taken  me  prisoner,  if  Colonel  Boone  sent 
me  to  steal  their  horses,  that  I  said  'No,  sir  (here 
he  looked  indignant,  and  rose  from  his  chair);  I 
tell  you,  I  never  said  'sir  to  an  Ingin  in  my  life; 
I  scarcely  ever  say  it  to  a  white  man." 

Mrs.  Kenton,  who  was  engaged  in  some  domestic 
occupation  at  the  table,  turned  round  and  re- 
marked: "When  we  were  last  in  Kentucky,  some 
one  gave  me  the  book  to  read,  and  when  I  came 
to  that  part,  he  would  not  let  me  read  any  more." 

"And  I  will  tell  you,"  interrupted  Kenton,  "I 
never  was  tied  to  a  stake  in  my  life,  to  be  burned; 
they  had  me  painted  black  when  I  saw  Girty,  but 
not  tied  to  a  stake." 

I  mention  this,  not  at  all  to  disparage  the  book, 
but  to  show  Kenton's  character,  for,  though  per- 
sonally unacquainted  with  the  author,  I  have  a 


A  VISIT  TO  SIMON  KENTON.  77 

high  respect  for  his  talents ;  besides,  Mr.  McClung 
does  not  give  the  account  of  Kenton's  adventures 
as  narrated  to  himself  by  him,  but  as  abridged  from 
a  MS.  account  given  by  the  venerable  pioneer  him- 
self, and  now  in  the  possession  of  Mr.  John  D. 
Taylor,  of  Kentucky.  Kenton  stated  that  he  had 
narrated  his  adventures  to  a  young  lawyer  (whose 
name  I  forget),  and  that  all  in  the  book  was  true. 
In  answer  to  a  question  about  Girty,  he  observed: — 

"He  was  good  to  me.  When  he  came  up  to  me, 
when  the  Ingins  had  painted  me  black,  I  knew  him 
at  first.  He  asked  me  a  good  many  questions,  but 
I  thought  it  best  not  to  be  too  for'ard,  and  I  held 
back  from  telling  him  my  name ;  but,  when  I  did 
tell  him — oh!  he  was  mighty  glad  to  see  me.  He 
flung  his  arms  round  me,  and  cried  like  a  child.  I 
never  did  see  one  man  so  glad  to  see  another  yet. 
He  made  a  speech  to  the  Ingins — he  could  speak 
the  Ingin  tongue,  and  knew  how  to  speak — and 
told  them  if  they  meant  to  do  him  a  favor  they 
must  do  it  now,  and  save  my  life.  Girty,  after- 
wards, when  we  were  at  (I  think  he  said)  Detroit 
together,  cried  to  me  like  a  child,  often,  and  told 
me  he  was  sorry  for  the  part  he  took  against  the 
whites;  that  he  was  too  hasty.  Yes,  I  tell  you, 
Girty  was  good  to  me." 

I   remarked,  "  It's   a  wonder  he  was  good  to 

you." 

"No,"  he  replied,  quickly  but  solemnly,  "it's 


78  A  VISIT  TO  SIMON  KENTON, 

no  wonder.  When  we  see  our  fellow-creatures 
every  day,  we  don't  care  for  them  ;  but  it  is  dif- 
ferent when  you  meet  a  man  all  alone  in  the 
woods — the  wild,  lonely  woods.  I  tell  you,  stranger, 
Girty  and  I  met,  lonely  men,  on  the  banks  of  the 
Ohio,  and  where  Cincinnati  now  stands,  and  we 
pledged  ourselves  one  to  the  other,  hand  in  hand, 
for  life  and  death,  when  there  was  nobody  in  the 
wilderness  but  God  and  us."  His  very  language, 
and  a  sublime  expression  I  thought  it. 

He  spoke  kindly  of  the  celebrated  Logan,  the 
Indian  chief,  and  said  he  was  a  fine-looking  man, 
with  a  good  countenance,  and  that  Logan  spoke 
English  as  well  as  himself.  Speaking  of  the 
Indians,  he  said  :  "  Though  they  did  abuse  me 
mightily,  I  must  say  that  they  are  as  'cute  as 
other  people — with  many  great  warriors  among 
them  ;  they  are  as  keen  marksmen  as  the  whites, 
but  they  do  not  take  as  good  care  of  their  rifles. 
Finding  one's  way  through  the  woods  is  all  habit. 
Indians  talk  much  less  than  the  whites  when  they 
travel,  but  that  is  because  they  have  less  to  think 
about." 

He  spoke  of  Boone,  and  said  that  he  had  been 
with  him  a  great  deal.  He  described  him  as  a 
Quaker-looking  man,  with  great  honesty  and  sin- 
gleness of  purpose,  but  very  keen.  We  were 
struck  with  his  acuteness  and  delicacy  of  feeling. 
He  was  going  to  show  us  his  hand,  which  had  been 


A  VISIT  TO  SIMON  KENTON,  79 

maimed  by  the  Indians ;  he  half  drew  off  his  mit- 
ten, and  then  pulled  it  on  again. 

"No,"  said  he,  "it  hurts  my  feelings." 

My  friend  observed  that  it  was  mentioned  in 
the  different  accounts  of  him,  that  when  himself 
and  his  companions  arrived  at  the  Ohio,  with  the 
horses  of  the  Indians,  they  might  have  escaped  if 
they  had  followed  his  advice. 

"Understand,  understand,"  said  he,  "I  do  not 
mean  to  blame  them.  The  horses  would  not,  some- 
how, enter  the  river.  I  knew  the  Indians  were 
behind  us,  and  told  them  so.  They  would  not 
leave  the  horses;  I  could  not  leave  them,  so  the 
Indians  came  yelling  down  the  hills  and  took  us." 

I  observed  to  him  that  I  wondered,  after  his 
escape  from  the  Indians,  that  he  did  not  return  to 
Virginia,  and  run  no  more  risks  of  being  taken  by 
them. 

"Ah  !"  said  he,  "  I  was  a  changed  man  ;  they 
abused  me  mightily.  I  determined,  after  that, 
never  to  miss  a  chance.''  (Meaning  at  the  life  of 
an  Indian.) 

He  was  very  anxious  that  Clarke's  life  should 
be  written — General  George  Rogers  Clarke  — 
who,  he  said,  had  done  more  to  save  Kentucky 
from  the  Indians  than  any  other  man.  He  told 
us  that  a  gentleman  from  Urbanna,  Ohio,  had  been 
with  him  two  or  three  days,  and  that  he  had  told 
him  a  good  deal  about  himself,     "But,"  said  he, 


80  A  VISIT  TO  SIMON  KENTON. 

"  I  am  mighty  anxious  to  tell  what  I  know  about 
Clarke.  You  may  depend  he  was  a  brave  man, 
and  did  much." 

He  then  told  us  that  not  five  miles  from  the 
place  where  we  were,  he  had  been  a  captive  among 
the  Indians,  painted  black,  with  his  hands  pinioned 
behind  him,  his  body  lacerated  with  the  severest 
treatment ;  the  bone  of  his  arm  broken,  and  pro- 
jecting through  the  flesh,  and  his  head  shockingly 
bruised.  I  observed  to  him  that  he  must  have 
been  a  very  strong  and  active  man,  to  have  en- 
dured so  many  hardships,  and  made  so  many 
escapes. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  I  believe  I  might  say  I  was 
once  an  active  man.  But,"  continued  he,  taking 
my  crutch  in  his  hand,  as  I  sat  beside  him,  and 
holding  it,  together  with  his  staff — I  could  trace 
the  association  of  his  ideas — "I  am  an  old  man." 

I  observed,  from  his  manner,  that  he  wished  to 
ask  me  about  my  crutch,  but  that  he  felt  a  delicacy 
in  doing  so.  I  explained  it  to  him  ;  after  observing 
the  fashion  of  it  for  some  time — for  I  had  a  fashion 
of  my  own  in  my  crutches— he  looked  earnestly  at 
me,  and  said,  with  emotion,  showing  me  his  own 
staff — 

"  You  see  I  have  to  use  one,  too;  you  are  young 
and  I  am  old ;  but,  I  tell  you,  we  must  all  come  to 
it  at  last." 

Many,  in  their  courtesy,  have  tried  to  reconcile 


A  VISIT  TO  SIMON  KENTON.  81 

me  to  my  crutch  ;  but  no  one  ever  did  it  with  so 
bland  a  spirit  as  this  blunt  backwoodsman,  who 
never  said  sir  to  an  Indian  in  his  life,  and  scarcely 
ever  to  a  white  man. 

True  politeness  is  from  the  heart,  and  from  the 
abundance  of  the  heart  it  speaketh;  the  rest  is  but 
imitation,  and,  at  best,  the  automaton  fashioned  to 
act  like  a  man. 

We  arose  twice  to  leave  ere  we  did  so,  the  old 
worthy  pressed  us  so  warmly  "  not  to  go  yet." 
At  last,  after  a  hearty  shake  of  the  hand  with  him, 
we  departed  on  our  way  to  Bellefontaine.  We 
were  scarcely  on  the  road  before  the  rain  de- 
scended fast  upon  us  ;  but  we  went  on,  transacted 
our  business,  and  returned  to  West  Liberty  to 
spend  the  night,  unmindful  of  the  heavy  storm 
that  poured  down  upon  us  in  our  open  buggy,  but 
full  of  the  old  pioneer,  and  the  reflections  which 
our  visit  had  called  up. 

We  looked  around,  and  did  not  wonder  that  the 
Indians  fought  hard  for  the  soil,  so  fruitful  with  all 
the  resources  and  luxuries  of  savage  life,  redolent 
with  so  many  associations  for  them,  all  their  own 
— theirs  for  centuries — their  prairies,  their  hunt- 
ing-grounds, the  places  where  their  wigwams  stood, 
where  their  council-fires  were  lighted,  where  rested 
the  bones  of  their  fathers,  where  their  religious  rites 
were  performed.  How  often  had  they  hailed  the 
"bright  eye  of  the  universe!"  as  we  hailed  him 


82  A  VISIT  TO  SIMON  KENTON. 

that  morning,  almost  with  a  Persian  worship,  and 
on  that  very  spot.  In  a  few  hours,  we  beheld 
him  sinking  in  his  canopy  of  clouds.  And  thus 
they  sink,  and  the  shadows  of  their  evening  grow 
darker  and  darker,  and  they  shall  know  no  mor- 
row. Happy  for  those  who  now  possess  their 
lands,  if  they  cherish,  and  if  their  posterity  shall 
cherish,  the  homely  virtues,  the  simple  honesty 
and  love  of  freedom  of  the  early  pioneers — of  him 
with  whom  we  shook  hands  that  morning,  on  the 
brink  of  the  grave.  If  they  do,  then,  indeed,  may 
their  broad  banner,  with  its  stars  and  stripes 
trebled,  be  planted  on  the  far  shores  of  the  Pacific, 
the  emblem  of  a  free  and  a  united  people. 


OLD    NAT. 

A    FACT. 


In  my  boyhood,  while  dwelling  at  my  uncle's, 
about  three  miles  from  Baltimore,  on  the  York 
turnpike  road,  I  remember  to  have  been  deeply 
grieved  by  the  invitation  to  our  household  to  attend 
the  funeral  of  our  neighbor  and  friend,  Mr.  Rich- 
ardson. The  deceased  dwelt  about  half  a  mile 
from  my  uncle's,  between  the  Falls  and  York  turn- 
pike roads,  in  a  broad  strip  of  bottom-land,  where 
he  cultivated  a  farm  and  carried  on  a  mill.  The 
mill-dam,  to  my  boyish  ideas,  was  an  ocean  !  How 
rankly  the  weeds  and  long  grass  grew  upon  its 
sides.  The  water-snakes  therein  were  only  out- 
numbered by  the  bull-frogs  thereof,  while  the  mud- 
turtles,  like  a  neutral  party,  with  the  assistance  of 
the  floating  chips  that  looked  like  them,  would 
have  polled  somewhat  more  than  either.  The  sum- 
mer barks  that  I  have  set  afloat  there,  and  which 


84  OLD  NAT. 

the  sweeping  breeze  bore  to  a  returnless  distance, 
and  which  went  down,  like  Tom  Moore's  (though 
not  "  at  sea"),  when  heaven  was  all  tranquillity — - 
well  do  I  remember  them  !  Often  have  my  school- 
mates and  I  there  proved  Cardinal  Wolsey's  illus- 
tration of  "  Little  wanton  boys  that  swim  on  blad- 
ders." By  the  mill-race,  how  it  delighted  me  to 
loll  and  throw  chips  into  the  rushing  waters !  I 
thought  then,  and  the  simile  came  to  me  from  na- 
ture, as  it  has  many  times  since  from  books  that 
were  a  thousand  years  older  than  either  myself  or 
the  mill-race,  that,  like  those  pent-up  waters  break- 
ing forth,  was  the  outbreak  of  human  passions. 

The  house  stood  on  a  gentle  knoll  beside  the 
dam,  and  multitudinous  were  the  numbers  of  geese, 
ducks,  chickens,  and  turkeys,  which  the  frugal 
housewife  exulted  in  raising.  Here  the  two  latter 
races  wandered  and  worried,  when  the  two  former 
paddled  and  plashed  in  the  mill-dam.  And  while 
chickens  and  hens,  with  the  rooster  in  their  midst, 
or  at  their  flank,  or  in  their  rear,  and  the  turkeys 
with  their  grand  seignior,  the  gobler,  in  similar 
fashion,  would  take  up  a  scattering  trail  for  the 
barnyard  or  the  woods — it  was  amusing  to  observe 
with  what  regular  solemnity,  in  contrast,  the  ducks, 
with  the  drake  at  their  head,  but  more  especially 
the  geese  with  the  truculent  and  burly  gander  in 
advance,  would  parade  in  Indian  file,  along  the 
devious,  narrow  race-path  to  the  mill-dam.    In  my 


OLD  NAT.  85 

mind's  eye  I  "sec  them  on  their  winding  way," 
now.  Well  may  I  remember  the  first  time  I  saw 
them.  I  was  then  but  a  child,  and  was  sent  on  the 
farthest  adventure  I  had  ever  made  from  home 
alone,  on  an  errand  to  Mr.  Richardson's.  I  passed 
the  graveyard  tremulously ;  the  rustling  leaves 
whispered  ghost  stories  to  me,  and  the  booming 
beetle  struck  against  me  like  a  rushing  train  of 
funeral  spirits  met  in  mid  career,  but  I  got  safe 
through  the  bars  which  inclosed  the  dam.  There 
I  thought  I  might  be  lost  in  the  hazel-bushes,  or 
that  some  Georgia  man,  as  the  negroes  then  called 
the  slave-dealers — for  to  Georgia  many  of  the 
negroes  were  then  sold,  and  it  was  their  horror — 
would  leap  upon  me  from  the  woods,  paint  me 
black,  and  forthwith  sell  me  into  slavery.  But  the 
bushes  were  passed  safely,  though  an  old  stump, 
which  glanced  at  me  on  the  side  of  the  road,  had 
hastened  me  through  them.  I  had  now  but  to  turn 
a  sudden  angle  in  the  race-path,  and  the  house  of 
Mr.  Richardson  would  be  full  in  view  and  near  by. 
I  trod  upon  it,  with  my  little  crutch  under  my  arm, 
bravely.  Lo,  as  I  turned  the  angle,  I  beheld,  not 
ten  feet  from  me,  the  old  gander,  at  the  head  of  a 
considerable  troop,  making  a  dignified  descent  on 
the  mill-dam.  The  path  was  of  the  narrowest, 
made  by  the  footsteps  of  those  who  attended  to 
the  dam,  and  it  was  closely  girt  by  high  thick 
grass  and  alder-bushes ;  it  was  evident  that  either 


80  OLD  NAT. 

the  gander  and  train  or  myself  must  turn  out  into 
them.  Numbers  were  against  me  ;  but  I,  who  had 
passed  graveyard  and  Georgia  men  all  alone,  I,  it 
was  certain,  could  not  nor  would  not  be  such  a 
goose  as  to  give  way  to  a  gander.  Through  the 
trees  I  saw  the  slaves  of  Mr.  Richardson  at  play 
about  the  house,  and  I  resolved,  notwithstand- 
ing the  democracy  of  numbers  was  against  me, 
to  maintain  my  path.  The  gander  condescend- 
ed not  to  notice  me  until  we  had  got  within 
five  feet  of  each  other.  He  then  raised  his  head 
with  a  hissing  sound ;  I  waved  my  hand  me- 
chanically, and  ejaculated  "  shoo!"  The  gander 
stood  for  a  moment  at  bay,  expanding  his  wings 
and  protruding  his  neck,  then,  with  a  hiss,  hiss, 
hiss,  malignant  as  a  viper's,  he  made  right  at  me. 
The  suddenness,  and,  I  may  say,  the  unexpected- 
ness of  the  assault,  rather  than  fear,  caused  me  to 
recoil,  and,  as  I  did  so,  my  crutch  slipped,  and  I 
tumbled  on  my  side  and  rolled  over  on  my  face  on 
my  way  clown  the  hill.  In  that  position  I  seized 
an  alder-bush,  with  the  intention  of  maintaining 
my  ground  and  regaining  an  upright  position,  when, 
just  as  I  did  so,  the  gander's  hiss  ceased,  and  for  a 
good  reason.  On  the  skirt  of  my  jacket  the  gander 
seized  murderously — over  and  upon  me  he  flap- 
ped his  wings  with  diabolical  energy,  tightening, 
as  he  did  so,  his  grapple,  while  his  whole  bevy 
raised  such  a  clatter  that  I  felt  myself  in  a  whirl- 


OLD  NAT.  87 

wind  of  unappeasable  wrath,  and  thought  my  death 
hour  had  come.  Oh,  the  agony  of  dying  away 
from  home !  I  lifted  my  voice  and  screamed  aloud. 
The  progenitors  of  this  race  saved  Rome,  but  they 
certainly  would  have  done  for  me,  had  not  "  Old 
Nat"  arrived  at  this  instant,  and  most  valor ously 
rescued  me. 

This  was  my  first  acquaintance  with  old  Nat. 
He  wiped  the  dust  and  dirt  from  my  face  and 
hands,  readjusted  my  disordered  habiliments,  and 
led  me  to  the  house.  I  delivered  my  message,  and 
departed  for  home,  where  I  arrived  in  safety,  but 
not  by  the  mill-race  path. 

I  never  saw  Nat  after  this  until  I  saw  him  at 
his  master's  grave.  My  uncle  had  been  down  to 
Mr.  Richardson's,  offering  all  the  consolation  and 
assistance  in  his  power.  It  was  rather  late  for  us 
to  get  to  the  dwelling  of  the  deceased  before  the 
funeral-train  should  leave  it,  when  my  relative  re- 
turned for  us ;  and,  as  the  ceremony  was  to  be  per- 
formed at  the  grave,  which  was  between  Mr. 
Richardson's  and  our  residence,  it  was  agreed  that 
we  should  go  directly  to  the  graveyard.  In  fact, 
it  lay  on  the  side  of  the  road  which  communicated 
between  the  two  estates.  As  it  was  not  more  than 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  off,  my  uncle  took  me  by  the 
hand,  and,  with  his  wife  on  his  arm,  we  repaired 
thither.  We  found  ourselves  somewhat  late  when 
we  approached  the  graveyard,  for  the  coffin  had 


88  OLD  NAT. 

been  lowered  into  its  earthly  receptacle,  and  the 
clergyman  was  performing  his  last  offices.  The 
widow  did  not  attend,  but  the  children  of  the 
deceased  stood  weeping  over  him,  and  the  grief  of 
one  of  them,  John,  a  playmate  of  mine,  was 
touching  in  the  extreme. 

That  we  might  not  disturb  the  hallowed  feelings 
of  the  mourners,  my  uncle  stopped  with  us  on  the 
outskirts  of  the  group.  I  saw  him  directing  the 
attention  of  my  aunt  to  Nat,  and  my  eye  followed 
hers.  Nat's  mother  was  a  dark  mulatto,  and  his 
father  a  negro ;  there  was,  therefore,  a  slight  ad- 
mixture of  the  races  in  his  veins. 

He  was  tall,  raw-boned,  and  erect,  with  very  long 
arms.  His  mouth  was  small,  considering  the  pre- 
dominance of  his  African  blood,  and  his  nose 
straight,  but  with  very  big  nostrils;  and  he  had  a 
quick,  shrewd  eye,  which  wore  generally  any  but 
a  sad  expression. 

Now  it  was  far  different;  and  any  one  who  might 
have  looked  at  him,  would  have  known,  at  a  glance, 
that  the  deceased  was  a  kind  master,  for  Nat 
leaned  with  both  hands  upon  his  spade,  with  which 
he  was  to  throw  the  earth  upon  the  coffin,  while 
the  big  round  tears  gushed  down  his  cheeks.  He 
looked  at  my  schoolmate,  and  then  into  the  grave, 
and,  stepping  to  his  side,  said: — 

"Oh,  Master  John,  look  here,  now;  don't  take 
on  so." 


OLD  NAT*  89 

" Susan,"  said  my  uncle  to  my  aunt,  as  he 
clashed  a  tear  from  his  eye,  "Mr.  Richardson's 
servants  are  to  he  free  after  they  have  served  a 
certain  time  for  which  they  are  to  he  sold,  accord- 
ing to  his  will,  and  I  shall  certainly  buy  Nat." 

On  the  day  of  sale,  in  fulfilment  of  the  pur- 
pose which  my  uncle  expressed  at  the  grave,  he 
attended,  taking  me  with  him  in  his  gig.  Nat 
was  forty  years  of  age,  and  was  sold  for  five 
years,  at  the  expiration  of  which  he  was  to  be  free. 
He  expressed  great  gratitude  when  my  uncle  told 
him  he  meant  to  purchase  him,  saying  that  he  was 
glad  he  was  not  to  leave  the  neighborhood  where 
he  had  worked  so  long  with  his  old  master. 

As  soon  as  the  bidding  had  ceased,  and  Nat  was 
struck  down  to  my  relative,  a  broad  grin  broke 
over  his  countenance,  and,  stepping  up  to  him,  he 
said:  "Master,  I'll  go  to  my  new  home  now,  if  you 
say  so." 

My  uncle  nodded  assent,  and,  after  shaking 
hands  all  around  with  his  fellow-slaves,  he  de- 
parted with  alacrity.  Having  no  other  purpose  at 
the  sale  but  the  purchase  of  Nat,  my  uncle  soon 
followed  that  worthy  homeward.  Our  route  lay 
directly  by  the  graveyard  where  Mr.  Richardson 
was  buried,  and,  as  we  approached  it,  we  beheld 
Nat,  leaning  with  his  arms  on  the  top  of  the  fence, 
and  gazing  wistfully  at  the  grave.  As  soon  as  he 
8* 


90  OLD  NAT. 

saw  us,  he  took  a  by-path  to  my  uncle's,  where  we 
found  him  on  our  arrival. 

My  uncle's  dwelling  was  a  long  one-story  man- 
sion, with  immense  windows,  that  made  it  look,  at  a 
distance,  like  a  large  country  church,  for  which,  in 
fact,  it  has  been  more  than  once  mistaken.  It  had 
a  basement  story,  where  were  the  sleeping  apart- 
ments of  many  of  the  slaves,  together  with  the 
kitchen.  As  soon  as  I  had  finished  my  tea — for  the 
sale  took  place  in  the  afternoon,  and  we  found  the 
table  set  when  we  got  home — I  descended  into  the 
kitchen,  with  the  wish  to  see  my  old  acquaintance, 
Nat,  and,  by  recognizing  him,  do  my  boyish  best 
to  make  him  feel  at  home  in  his  new  quarters. 

Nat  needed  not  my  welcome  to  place  him  at 
home.  He  was  seated  quietly  in  the  chimney- 
corner,  smoking  a  pipe  with  the  ease  of  a  Turk  in 
his  own  especial  sanctum.  The  cook,  Viney,  who 
had  a  race  of  nearly  a  dozen  about  her,  was 
listening  respectfully  to  the  new-comer,  as  was  also 
CufFy,  an  African,  whom  my  uncle's  brother  had 
purchased  in  one  of  the  slave-markets  of  the  West 
Indies.  One  day  my  uncle's  brother  was  passing 
through  the  slave-market  in  Cuba,  I  think,  when 
the  poor  fellow  sprang  from  among  the  gang,  and, 
throwing  himself  on  his  knees  before  him,  implored 
him,  by  signs  most  impressive,  to  become  his  pur- 
chaser. Touched  by  the  scene,  he  purchased  him, 
and  a  deep  attachment  had  grown  up  between  the 


OLD  NAT.  91 

master  and  the  slave.  "Master  John,"  as  Cuffy 
always  called  him,  was  now  on  a  visit  to  the  United 
States,  and  had  brought  Cuffy  with  him. 

Lem,  or,  as  he  preferred  being  called,  in  full, 
Lemuel,  the  coachman,  was  pretending  to  busy 
himself  with  something  or  other  by  the  dresser,  as 
it  was  called,  in  which  the  dishes  were  spread  out 
on  shelves;  but  he  was  evidently  listening  to,  and 
scrutinizing  Nat,  with  the  desire  of  not  being 
observed. 

Lem  wore  livery,  drove  the  carriage,  and  waited 
on  the  table,  and,  of  course,  held  himself  in  aristo- 
cratic elevation  above  the  field-hands.  He  was  a 
short,  duck-legged  negro,  with  a  forehead  slanting 
directly  back  from  his  eyebrows.  It  was  short,  and, 
to  make  the  most  of  it,  Lem  combed,  with  much 
care,  every  bit  of  wool  back  from  it.  His  nose 
turned  up,  as  if  to  take  a  view  over  the  top  of  his 
head,  or,  perhaps,  to  avoid  the  chasm  of  his  im- 
mense mouth,  which  was  garnished  with  two  rows 
of  dusky  teeth,  that  were  not  half  as  white  as 
Cuffy's,  though  Lem,  every  morning,  in  imitation 
of  his  master,  used  a  toothbrush.  My  uncle  was 
a  dyspeptic,  and  Lem  was  a  dyspeptic,  too.  He 
wras  an  envious,  conceited  fellow,  and  nothing  would 
have  pleased  him  more,  had  he  been  farther  south, 
than  to  have  been  placed,  whip  in  hand,  as  a  driver 
over  his  fellows.  "Sarvant,  master  William,"  said 
Nat,  offering  me  a  chair,  and  taking  a  seat  on  a 


92  OLD  NAT. 

stool  that  stood  beside  him.  "I  hope  old  master's 
things  sold  well,  for  missus  and  the  children's  sake. 
I  suppose  you  didn't  notice,  though." 

"Uncle  says  they  did,  Nat,"  I  replied.  "What 
were  you  talking  about?" 

"Whether  or  not  spirits  walk,  sir;  an5  I  main- 
tains it  as  how  they  does,  sir." 

"Why?"  asked  I,  with  boyish  fear,  approaching 
nearer  to  him. 

"Because  I  seed  my  old  master  the  other  night 
as  plainly  as  I  see  you.  I  had  been  sent  in  town 
by  missus,  to  market,  the  Saturday  master  died, 
and,  feeling  sad  like,  I  had  to  take  my  bitters 
pretty  often.  I  felt  something  was  going  to  hap- 
pen to  me;  and  that  night,  after  I  got  home,  I 
spent  mighty  uneasy.  The  next  day,  being  Sun- 
day, I  had  to  myself,  and,  by  way  of  breaking  the 
spell,  I  goes  down  on  to  the  road,  right  by  here, 
and  spent  my  time  with  the  boys.  I  stayed  there 
all  day,  and  just  after  night-time  I  starts  for  home. 
I  had  always  tried  to  do  what  was  right  by  old 
master,  so  I  took  my  way  by  the  graveyard,  a  kind 
o'  sorrowing  for  him,  but  not  afeard  for  myself, 
though  I  felt  rather  awful  for  all.  You  know  the 
graveyard  comes  right  to  a  pint  as  you  are  agwine 
down  the  hill.  I  kind  of  looks  over  at  the  grave, 
and  there,  after  I  looked  steady  a  moment,  some- 
thing white  rises.  I  knew  it  must  be  old  master, 
for  right  at  once  it  come  over  me  that  I  had  been 


OLD  NAT.  93 

taking  too  much  lately,  and  he  always  'posed  it  in 
everybody,  might  and  main.  I  tell  you,  my  hair 
riz  as  straight  as  yourn.  I  walked  right  on,  as 
hard  as  I  could  go;  it  followed.  You  know  the 
fence  leads  right  straight  down  to  the  barn,  by  the 
big  grape-vine,  whar'  you  go  into  the  mill ;  it  fol- 
lowed to  thar.  I  couldn't  look  round — I  heer'd 
it;  but,  as  I  got  over  the  fence,  I  looked,  an'  I  saw 
master.  It  was  him.  I  saw  him,  as  plain  as  I  see 
you,  turn  into  a  little  white  dog,  an' — " 

"It  was  the  dog  that  followed  you,"  said  Lem, 
from  the  graveyard  ;  "  you  must  have  been  intox- 
hacated." 

"  Intoxhacated !"  re-echoed  Nat :  "  I  thanks  you, 
sir,  for  your  manners  to  a  strange  gentleman. 
If  it  had  been  a  dog,'5  resumed  Nat,  turning  to 
me,  but  answering  Lem,  "  how  comes  I  to  hear  it 
walk  with  two  heavy  feet,  like  master  used  to 
walk  afore  me,  and  hear  nothing  when  it  walked 
away?" 

Lem's  interruption  discomposed  Nat's  dignity, 
and  he  resumed  his  pipe  and  quitted  his  story. 
Lem's  notion  was  no  doubt,  however,  correct,  for 
Nat,  who  was  given  to  the  bottle,  was  a  great  seer 
of  sights  when  he  had  over-indulged  himself.  Nat 
and  Lem  never  became  friends,  and  I  always  at- 
tributed it  to  this  little  circumstance. 

Lem,  as  I  have  said,  imitated  his  master  in 
everything,  even  in  his  complaints. 


94  OLD  NAT. 

My  uncle  was  very  dyspeptic ;  he  took  a  great 
many  nostrums,  without  their  producing  any  good 
effect  upon  him  (of  course).  At  last,  however,  he 
fancied  that  old  Doctor  Mann,  a  French  physi- 
cian, who  kept  at  the  corner  of  Calvert  and  Market 
streets,  had  compounded  certain  pills  which  gave 
him  relief.  My  uncle  generally  obtained  them 
through  Nat,  whom  he  sent  into  the  city  to  market 
regularly  twice  a  week,  and  who  hauled  at  other 
times  wood  to  the  city,  and  manure  for  the  farm 
from  it.  The  coach  was  not  often  used,  except  on 
Sundays,  when  the  family  went  to  church,  so  that 
Nat  went  much  oftener  to  the  city  than  Lem.  Lem 
though  was  quite  a  moneyed  man,  for  he  was  always 
in  waiting  to  hold  the  horses  of  the  friends  of  my 
uncle  when  they  visited  us,  and  he  was  sure  to  ob- 
tain a  piece  of  silver  when  they  remounted. 

One  day  I  overheard  Lem  say  very  pompously 
to  Nat  (slaves  with  each  other  generally  bear  the 
names  of  their  masters,  as  the  servants  in  the  ad- 
mirable farce  of  "High  Life  below  Stairs,"  become 
dukes  and  lords  with  each  other,  and  Nat  re- 
tained his  old  master's  name),  "  Mr.  Richardson, 
you  wrould  obligate  me  if  with  this  money,"  putting 
a  twenty-five  cent  piece  into  Nat's  hand,  "  you  would 
obtain  for  me  from  Doctor  Mann  a  box  of  his  dis- 
peptus  pills.  My  bowels  is  terribly  disordered, 
and  there's  riotlrin'  that  takes  me  to  town  to-day. 


OLD  NAT.  95 

Master  says  them  pills  helps  him,  and  I  think 
they'll  help  me  too." 

Nat  took  the  money,  and  said  he  'would  do  so. 
About  half  an  hour  afterwards  he  came  to  me  and 
said, 

"Master  "William,  if  you  will  give  me  some  of 
them  old  pill-boxes  of  master's,  -what  I  seed  you 
have,  I'll  get  you  all  the  chestnuts  you  'want." 

That  I  esteemed  a  most  liberal  offer  on  the  part 
of  Nat,  and  I  wTas  not  slow  in  closing  the  bargain, 
by  handing  him  several  of  the  empty  boxes.  I 
heard  no  more  about  the  pills  for  three  or  four 
•weeks,  during  which  time  Nat  had  obtained  several 
boxes  of  them  for  Lem,  until  one  day  Nat  asked 
him  how  they  operated. 

"To  a  fraction,"  replied  Lem,  with  dignity,  "and 
they  am  not  hard  to  take,  only  they  'casion  a  little 
nauseum  on  account  of  their  tasting  a  leetle  fishy." 

"Master  Ywlliam,"  said  Nat,  slyly  to  me,  when 
Lem  was  out  of  hearing,  "I  tells  you  something  if 
you  says  nothing  about  it." 

"Not  a  word." 

"  Them  old  pill-boxes  of  master's  you  got  for  me, 
I  rubs  mackerel  eyes  in  flour — them's  the  pills,  and 
I  spends  Lem's  quarters  drinking  his  health,  and 
a  hoping  they  may  do  him  much  good." 

Nat  was  an  active  muscular  fellow,  and  a  great 
walker.  I  was  passionately  fond  of  attending  husk- 
ing matches  ;  so  was  Nat.     I  had  accompanied  him 


96  OLD  NAT. 

to  several,  and  whenever  I  got  tired  of  walking, 
and  I  could  not  go  far  at  night  on  my  crutch,  un- 
less I  knew  the  road,  and  not  even  then  if  the 
ground  was  soft,  Nat  would  stoop  down,  and  placing 
his  hands  for  stirrups,  with  the  left  arm  shorter 
than  the  other,  I  would  mount,  and  he  would  jog 
along  as  easily  as  if  I  were  not  heavier  than  his 
axe — in  truth,  I  was  not  much  heavier.  In  this 
way  I  have  gone  with  him  five  or  six  miles  to  a 
husking  frolic,  and  back  again  the  same  night. 
There  was  one  stipulation  between  us  always  upon 
these  occasions,  namely,  that  Nat  was  not  to  get 
drunk,  which  would  have  prevented  my  getting 
home,  and  that  I,  when  we  got  home,  was  to  sup- 
ply him  with  as  much  whiskey  as  he  wanted.  This 
I  could  easily  do,  as  the  keys  of  the  storeroom, 
which  was  in  the  basement,  were,  when  not  in  use, 
always  hung  up  in  the  sitting-room,  and  my  uncle 
and  aunt  indulged  me  in  everything. 

One  night,  though  Nat  religiously  kept  his 
promise  with  me,  I  broke  mine  with  him.  He 
revenged  himself.  We  were  late  on  the  next  occa- 
sion in  starting  to  the  husking,  which  was  some 
five  miles  off.  I  walked  about  a  hundred  yards, 
and  then  mounted  on  Nat's  back.  Away  we  went, 
over  meadow  and  ploughed  land,  and  through  the 
woods.  Who  more  full  of  fun  than  I  ?  With  my 
handkerchief  around  Nat's  neck,  for  the  rein, 
sometimes  I  would  lean  away  back,  and  press  my 


OLD  NAT.  97 

feet  in  his  palms,  like  a  rider  who-  restrains  the  im- 
patience of  his  fiery  steed,  while  Nat,  humoring  the 
notion,  would  prance,  caper,  neigh,  and  play  the 
Bucephalus  entirely  to  my  admiration.  Then  again 
I  would  be  seized  with  the  fear  that  he  wTould 
throw  me,  and  would  pat  his  big  ears  and  cheeks, 
and  coax  him  into  a  walk.  I  even  went  so  far  on 
this  occasion  as  to  introduce  two  large  pins  into 
the  heels  of  my  shoes,  spur-like;  but,  upon  my 
applying  them,  my  steed,  like  Balaam's  ass,  not 
only  became  endowed  with  speech,  but  laid  me  right 
flat  down  upon  my  back  in  the  woods,  nor  would 
he  suffer  me  to  remount  until  I  had  placed  my  evi- 
dences of  knighthood  in  his  possession.  After  this, 
we  got  to  the  husking-match  safe,  and  Nat  showed 
forth  conspicuously.  His  companions  pressed  him 
over  and  over  to  drink,  and,  amidst  the  uproarious 
conviviality,  he  laid  no  restraint  upon  himself,  and 
soon  broke  loose  from  the  bounds  of  sobriety. 

When  I  again  mounted  for  home,  I  found  that 
no  spur  was  necessary.  I  tied  my  crutch  with  my 
handkerchief,  so  as  to  fix  it  to  my  arm,  and  seized 
with  both  hands  the  collar  of  Nat's  linsey-woolsey 
jacket,  in  right-down  earnest.  It  was  necessary, 
for  Nat  pitched  and  heaved  like  a  war-steed  when 
stricken  a  desperate  blow  by  the  foe.  It  was  quite 
natural,  for  Nat  was  combating  his  worst  enemy. 
We  got  in  this  way  into  the  woods.  He  staggered 
fore  and  aft,  brought  up  against  a  huge  tree,  with 
9 


98  OLD  NAT. 

an  oath,  and,  expanding  his  palms,  gave  me  a 
tumble  into  the  leaves  at  his  feet,  while  he  grasped 
the  trunk.  Steadying  himself  thereby,  he  looked 
down  at  me,  and  hiccoughed  out — 

"You  sees  the  konsekense,  Master  Billy,  of 
breaking  bargains.  I  kept  every  word  of  my  word 
to  you  on  drinking,  refusing  the  fellows,  and 
awaiting  till  we  got  home,  and  there  was  no  liquor. 
I've  got  my  liquor  now,  because  I  could  not  get  it 
at  home,  and  you  knows  whose  fault  it  is." 

So  speaking,  the  old  fellow  tumbled  down  in  the 
leaves  at  my  feet,  and,  all  I  could  do,  I  could  not 
rouse  him,  except  to  an  inarticulate  remark.  In 
two  minutes  he  was  fast  asleep. 

Though  I  felt  provoked,  I  reflected  that  old  Nat 
had  served  me  right,  and  I  sank  down  by  his  side, 
hoping  that  in  a  half  hour  or  so  he  would  recover. 
While  waiting  for  that  event,  I  changed  my  sitting 
to  a  recumbent  position,  and  was  soon  as  fast  asleep 
as  himself.  I  did  not  awake  until  he  himself 
aroused  me  at  daybreak,  and  hurried  with  me  off 
home.     After  that  I  broke  no  bargains  with  Nat. 

Nat  was  a  lover  of  the  sex,  a  kind  of  colored 
Lothario.  One  day,  as  I  was  playing  in  front  of 
the  house,  I  cast  my  eyes  down  the  road,  and  be- 
held Nat  seated  on  a  board  in  front  of  the  cart, 
returning  from  town,  with  g,  perfect  specimen  of 
one  of  Africa's  daughters  beside  him.  She  was  a 
likely  slave  of  some  eighteen  or  upwards,  whom  my 


OLD  NAT.  99 

uncle  had  purchased.  It  was  a  sight,  that  pair. 
Nat  was  seated  bolt  upright  beside  her,  with  an 
inclination  of  his  person  towards  the  damsel,  after 
the  fashion  which  he  had  witnessed  in  the  most 
splendid  vehicles  of  the  city,  as  their  lords  drove 
out  with  the  fair.  The  damsel,  whose  name  was 
Becky,  had  less  of  art,  and  more  of  nature  in  her 
manner.  She  was  dressed  in  her  best,  which  was 
a  spotted-muslin  gown,  with  an  old  lace  cape,  that 
her  former  mistress  had  given  her.  A  flaming 
bandanna  was  tastefully  tied  round  her  head,  and 
she  looked  tidy,  attentive,  and  neat,  but  not  without 
a  consciousness.  Nat  was  explaining  the  localities 
of  the  farm  to  her,  having  no  doubt  previously 
satisfied  her  of  the  kind  qualities  of  her  new  master. 
I  had  certainly  come  in  for  a  share  of  panegyric, 
for  I  saw  him  point  me  out  to  her,  and  a  broad  grin 
of  satisfaction  broke  over  her  countenance. 

At  the  back  door  Nat  descended  first  from 
the  cart,  according  to  fashion,  and  then  handed 
down  Miss  Becky.  From  the  side  door  my  aunt 
spoke  to  her  kindly,  and  desired  her  to  hand  some 
of  the  bundles  into  the  house.  When  they  were 
disposed  of,  Nat  resumed  his  seat,  and  I  took 
Becky's  beside  him,  for  the  purpose  of  riding  to 
the  stable,  and  hearing  his  opinion  of  the  new- 
comer.    To  my  inquiry  he  replied — 

"Master  bought  her  to-day,  from  the  widow 
Bushrod,  Master  William.     She  is  a  likely  colored 


100  OLD  NAT. 

person.  I  have  been  telling  her  all  about  our  folks, 
and  a  kind  of  eased  her  mind  as  to  her  new  master 
and  mistress.  She  is  not  married,  quite  a  gal  like, 
an'  I  s'pose  the  next  thing  we  shall  know,  Mr.  Lem 
will  be  dodging  round,  and  axing  old  master  for 
her  for  a  wife." 

"Nat,  as  you  arc  not  married  cither,  why  don't 
you  get  uncle  to  give  her  to  you?" 

"Master  William,"  replied  Nat  quickly,  "I  have 
been  thinking  of  that;  but  in  course  old  master  will 
give  her  to  the  one  she  likes,  an'  you  know  what  a 
fooling  way  Lem  has.  I'm  a  getting  on  to  the  out- 
skirts of  the  vale  of  years,  as  the  preacher  says, 
an'  Lem's  not  twenty-three.  Anyhow,  I'm  a  free 
man  in  six  months  from  this;  my  time  will  be  out 
then,  for  which  my  first  master  sold  me.  My  mas- 
ter, that's  now,  may-be  though  would  hire  me,  if  I 
was  to  get  Becky,  so  I  could  stay  about  the  place." 

"You  knew  Becky  before?"  I  remarked. 

"Yes,  slightly,  as  you'd  say,  Master  William; 
an'  Lem  never  seed  her  before." 

A  fierce  rivalry  forthwith  commenced  between 
Lem  and  Nat  for  Miss  Becky's  favor.  Well  do  I 
remember  the  tactics  practised  by  either  party,  and 
many  a  lover  whom  I  have  met  in  society  prac- 
tised his  arts  with  not  half  the  tact  of  these 
colored  gentlemen.  As  for  Becky,  she  proved  that 
the  gift  of  coquetry  was  not  confined  exclusively 
to  the  fairer  portion  of  Adam's  race  of  her  sex. 


OLD  NAT.  101 

It  was  my  wont  to  go  into  the  kitchen  on  winter 
evenings,  to  discourse  with  Nat  upon  the  intricate 
subject  of  bird  and  rabbit-catching;  and  there  I 
witnessed  man-catching  practised  with  equal  adroit- 
ness. Lem  was  coachman;  so  he  considered  him- 
self Nat's  superior.  Nat  was  possessed  of  a  great 
deal  of  ingenuity,  could  do  almost  anything  about 
a  farm,  and  often,  when  Lem  was  otherwise  em- 
ployed, drove  the  coach ;  therefore  he  was  disposed 
not  at  all  to  yield  to  Lem  on  the  score  of  personal 
pretension,  except  as  regarded  years,  and  they, 
Nat  said,  when  not  conversing  with  me  on  the  sub- 
ject, but  to  his  fellows,  entitled  him  to  the  greater 
respect;  a  consideration  which  a  prudent  personage 
would  not  certainly  press  upon  the  sex  in  a  love- 
affair.  In  the  progress  of  events,  it  appeared  cer- 
tain that  Lem  was  about  to  be  victor.  He  had 
greater  facilities  for  obtaining  money  than  his 
rival,  from  the  fact  that  he  held  the  horses,  and 
waited  on  my  uncle's  visitors;  and  much  of  it  he 
spent  in  making  propitiatory  sacrifices  to  the  god- 
dess of  his  idolatry.  While  affairs  were  in  this 
posture,  the  time  for  which  Nat  was  sold  expired. 
He  was  a  free  man.  Struck  with  jealousy  at  the 
success  of  his  more  fortunate  rival,  he  determined, 
like  Ernest  Maltravers,  the  Bulwerian  hero,  when 
he  thought  Vasgrave  about  to  be  the  happy  man, 
to  exile  himself  from  the  presence  of  the  charmer. 
Accordingly,  Nat  announced  his  determination  to 
9* 


102  OLD  NAT. 

my  uncle  to  go  back  to  Harford  County,  where  he 
was  raised.  Now,  Nat  was  my  uncle's  man-of-all- 
work,  his  man  Friday,  and  my  relative  felt  that  he 
should  be  at  great  loss  without  him.  Besides,  my 
uncle  was  much  older  than  my  aunt,  and,  notwith- 
standing this,  and  in  spite  of  many  rivals,  he  had 
succeeded  in  his  suit.  He  was  aware  of  the  rivalry 
which  existed  between  Lem  and  Nat,  and,  I  believe, 
from  a  fellow-feeling,  he  entertained  a  sly  wish 
that  Nat  should  outgeneral  his  compeer.  Con- 
trolled, I  think,  by  these  feelings,  my  uncle  offered 
Nat  fifteen  dollars  a  month  to  stay  with  him,  which 
our  colored  worthy  most  thankfully  accepted. 

A  few  days  after  Nat's  first  monthly  payment, 
Lem's  star  paled,  for  Nat  was  as  generous  as  a 
prince,  and  rivalry,  as  well  as  love  and  generosity, 
combined  to  make  him  open  his  purse-strings  to 
Miss  Becky. 

My  uncle  paid  Nat  his  fifteen  dollars  in  silver 
one  Saturday  night,  no  doubt  with  a  purpose,  for 
he  was  full  of  sly  humor,  and  was  fond  of  observing 
the  characters  of  those  about  him.  Becky  had 
been  engaged  to  go  with  Lem  to  the  country 
Methodist  Church  on  Sunday,  but  she  suddenly 
declined,  and  was  all  smiles  upon  Nat  during  the 
day.  The  next  Sunday  she  appeared  at  church, 
attended  by  Nat,  in  habiliments  that  far  outshone 
the  gorgeous  daughters  of  Africa  in  the  throng. 
From  that  day  forth,  Lem's   case  was   hopeless. 


OLD  NAT.  103 

It  had  a  speedy  termination  in  despair,  for  the 
following  Sunday  Nat  and  Becky  appeared  to- 
gether at  church  as  man  and  wife,  after  the  fashion 
of  their  people. 

By  way  of  revenge,  Lem  broke  open  a  black- 
smith-shop  down  on  the  road,  stole  the  tools,  and 
buried  them  in  a  patch  of  ground  which  my  uncle 
allowed  Nat  to  cultivate  for  himself.  Search 
was  made  for  the  tools,  and  Lem,  with  an  accom- 
plice and  backer,  named  Toney,  who  belonged  to  a 
neighbor,  asserted  that  they  had  seen  Nat  secreting 
them  in  the  patch,  one  night.  Luckily,  Nat  proved 
an  alibi  conclusively.  Alas  for  Lem !  it  was  de- 
cided that  he  should  receive  thirty-nine  lashes  on 
the  bare  back,  and,  by  way  of  preventing  mistakes, 
he  was  compelled  to  count  them  himself.  This 
was  not  all ;  he  was  degraded  from  the  coach-box 
into  the  field-service,  in  which  he  speedily  recovered 
of  his  dyspepsia,  and  became  a  hale,  hearty  fellow. 
And  yet  this  circumstance,  which  placed  Nat  in 
the  ascendant,  was,  after  all,  his  ruin.  He  was 
elevated  to  the  coach-box.  As  my  cousins  were 
growing  up,  the  carriage  was  called  into  frequent 
requisition,  and  Nat  was  driving  to  and  from  town 
constantly.  His  opportunities  for  the  obtaining  of 
liquor  were  frequent,  and  also,  like  many  a  better 
man,  he  not  only  availed  himself  of  every  oppor- 
tunity to  drink,  but  he  exhibited  a  great  deal  of 
tact  in  making  them.     No  matter  how  drunk,  he 


104  OLD  NAT. 

could  drive;  and  his  constitution  was  one  of  those 
hardy  ones,  in  which  the  vital  powers  hold  on  to 
the  last,  and  the  extremities  yield  first.  Gradually 
his  left  foot  increased  to  double  its  size,  became 
misshapen  like  a  club-foot,  and  the  old  fellow  had 
to  have  a  shoe  made  expressly  for  it.  Still  he  sat 
on  the  coach-box.  But  this  was  not  all.  One 
Christmas  eve,  returning  from  a  shooting-match 
down  on  the  road,  and  supplying  himself  from  a 
flask  of  whiskey  which  he  had  stowed  away  in  hi3 
pocket,  he  became  so  drunk  as  to  be  unable  to 
proceed,  and  pitched  down  into  the  snow,  where 
he  remained  all  night. 

The  consequence  was  that  old  Nat  became  a 
martyr  to  the  rheumatism,  which  not  only  rendered 
him  incapable  of  service,  but  an  expense  to  my 
relative,  for  medical  attendance.  It  was  two 
months  before  the  old  fellow  could  crawl  out,  and 
then  he  made  his  appearance  on  crutches. 

"When  Nat  was  first  taken,  Becky's  attentions 
to  him  were  unremitting ;  she  was  so  anxious  to 
restore  him  to  the  field,  and  thereby  prevent  the 
abatement  of  his  wages ;  but,  as  his  prospects  of 
future  labor  diminished,  and  his  medical  expense 
to  my  uncle  increased,  Becky  became  indifferent 
to  him. 

The  great  minstrel  of  the  North,  after  speaking 
of  the  general  waywardness  of  woman,  says,  in 


OLD  NAT.  105 

that  hackneyed  quotation  (hackneyed,  we  suppose, 
because  true): — 

When  pain  and  anguish  wring  the  brow, 
A  ministering  angel  thou! 

Becky  might  have  been  a  ministering  angel  to 
old  Nat,  but  she  removed  her  quarters  from  his 
room,  and  made  her  visits,  like  other  "angel  visits," 
a  good  distance  apart. 

Almost  by  miracle  Nat's  rheumatism  left  him 
for  a  season,  and  Becky  lighted  the  torch  of  hymen 
anew,  but  the  flames  had  scarcely  ascended  when 
the  old  fellow  had  a  relapse.  In  this  way  for  years 
Nat  lingered  along,  at  times  apparently  well  ex- 
cept his  lameness,  but  with  relapses  that,  at  each 
recurrence,  were  at  lesser  intervals  and  more  se- 
vere. Becky's  attentions  to  him  graduated  ac- 
cordingly. 

At  last  Nat's  wages  were  reduced  one-half,  and 
her  complaints  against  his  habits  were  loud  and 
frequent ;  but  old  Nat  was  sincerely  attached  to 
her,  and  bore  them  after  the  manner  of  Socrates. 
Becky  made  meanwhile  a  less  brilliant  appearance 
at  church,  though  her  domestic  qualities  gathered 
no  new  energy. 

Years  slipped  away,  and  I  approached  man's  es- 
tate. Nat  eked  out  now  what  my  uncle  allowed 
him,  which  was  but  a  few  dollars  a  month,  for  he 
had  become  almost  useless,  by  setting  traps  for  rab- 


106  OLD  NAT. 

bits  and  partridges,  and  selling  them  to  the  neigh- 
bors or  at  market.  Almost  every  cent  he  received 
was  transferred  to  Becky  ere  it  touched  his 
pocket. 

I  was  a  good  deal  amused  one  day,  poor  fellow, 
at  his  lamentation  over  his  lame  leg.     He  said — 

"Master  William,  I  don't  care  for  the  looks  of 
the  thing,  but  for  the  thing  itself.  You  see  Becky 
will  dress,  and  old  master  has  docked  my  wages 
on  account  of  my  rhumatiz,  and  my  not  being 
able  to  work  as  I  did,  and  now  when  I  expected  to 
make  a  catching  of  rabbits  and  partridges,  the 
niggers  all  about  here  track  me  through  the  snow 
by  my  lame  leg,  and  steals  everything.  There's 
Bryant's  Toney,  I  suspects  him  strong.  Master 
"William,  suppose  you  walks  down  with  me  to-mor- 
row morning  to  the  clump  of  trees  next  to  Bry- 
ant's. Right  in  the  sheep-track,  there  I've  set  my 
gun  (a  trap  made  out  of  a  hollow  log),  and  by 
hokey  I  know  we'll  catch  that  Toney  stealing  my 
rabbit  out  if  there's  airy  one  in." 

"Agreed,"  saidl,  and  the  next  morningbrightand 
early,  for  the  purpose  of  defending  the  old  fellow's 
rights,  I  attended  him  to  the  clamp  of  trees.  There 
stood  the  trap  with  the  fall-down  about  ten  feet 
from  us. 

"  We  're  afore  the  tarnal  rabbit  thief  this  morn- 
ing, Master  William,"  exclaimed  Nat,  stepping  up 
to  the  trap,  and  preparing  to  take  from  it  the  live 


OLD  NAT.  107 

captive  ;  "  every  morning  afore  this,  for  these  three 
mornings  past,  there's  been  somebody  here,  and 
helped  themselves,  and  then  set  the  trap  again,  for 
I  has  a  'tickler  way  of  setting  my  traps,  and  can 
tell." 

By  this  time,  secundum  artem,  Nat  had  extracted 
the  rabbit  from  his  trap,  and  with  the  affrighted 
animal  under  his  arm,  was  proceeding  to  set  it 
again,  when  he  looked  up  and  observed — 

"  See  !  Master  William,  yonder !  that's  Toney 
Bryant's.  Toney,  he's  the  thief,  you  may  depend  on 
it.  He's  coming  this  way ;  he's  looking  out  for 
other  traps,  but  he  ha'n't  seed  me  yet;  let's  hide, 
Master  William,  behind  the  trees,  and  catch  the 
varmint." 

We  accordingly  hid,  and  in  a  whisper,  Nat 
pointed  Toney  out  to  me  at  some  distance  off  on 
the  skirts  of  the  woods,  closely  eyeing  the  ground 
as  he  walked  on  in  search  of  traps.  With  an  eye 
glittering  through  the  bushes  at  him,  Nat  said, 

"That  agravating  varmint  '11  find  the  trap  down, 
and  think  there's  a  rabbit  in — he,  he." 

Toney  walked  directly  to  Nat's  trap,  and,  finding 
the  fall  down,  concluded,  of  course,  that  the  game 
was  there.  Accordingly  he  got  down  on  his  knees, 
for  the  purpose  of  purloining  it,  muttering  to  him- 
self, as  he  did  so,  "I'll  save  old  Nat  the  trouble 
again." 

Nat,  meanwhile,  was  not  an  uninteresting  picture. 


108  OLD  NAT. 

He  stood  in  a  stooping  attitude,  glaring  at  the  thief, 
while  he  held  the  rabbit  by  the  hind  legs,  with  its 
head  under  his  arm.  Every  now  and  then  the 
animal  gave  a  convulsive  start,  .in  its  efforts  to 
escape,  at  which  the  old  fellow  would  grasp  it 
harder,  and  gaze  the  keener  at  Toney,  who,  on 
finding  the  trap  empty  and  down,  concluded  that 
some  other  poacher  had  been  there  before  him. 
He  therefore  determined,  it  seemed,  to  remove  it 
to  some  place  where  he  could  make  sure  of  its  con- 
tents, and  accordingly  he  very  deliberately  lifted 
it  up  and  adjusted  it  under  his  arm. 

At  this  instant  Nat  stepped  forth,  and  confronted 
him,  saying,  with  great  dignity — 

"You've  no  'casion  to  take  that  trap." 

Toney  started,  and  dropped  the  trap,  but,  in  an 
instant,  recovered  himself,  and,  putting  his  foot 
on  it,  he  said — 

"The  trap's  mine." 

Nat,  full  of  courage  from  my  presence,  though 
I  was  unobserved  by  Toney,  exclaimed — 

"You  lie,  you  thief!"  And  forthwith  he  slung 
(forgetting  in  his  passion  what  would  be  his  loss) 
the  rabbit  full  in  his  face. 

Toney  had  the  reputation  of  being  a  dexterous 
fellow,  and  amply  proved  it  on  this  occasion,  for 
he  caught  the  rabbit  as  it  struck  him,  and,  bursting 
into  a  loud  laugh,  he  held  it  over  his  head  a  mo- 


OLD  NAT.  109 

ment,  in  derision,  and  then  darted  off  like  a  deer 
•with  it  into  the  woods. 

Matters  were  in  this  state  with  Nat  when  I  left 
my  uncle's,  and  domesticated  myself  in  the  city,  as 
a  student  of  the  law. 

In  due  time  I  was  admitted  to  practice,  and  did 
so  for  nearly  twelve  months,  when  increasing  indis- 
position compelled  me  to  repair  to  the  country  for 
my  health.  There  I  found  old  Nat  a  hanger-on 
about  the  farm,  incapable  of  doing  anything  but 
feed  the  poultry,  or  some  such  light  service.  He 
earned  no  wages  now,  and,  as  a  matter  of  kindness, 
my  uncle  supported  him.  Meanwhile  a  stout,  black, 
free  negro,  named  Joe  Mooney,  of  about  Becky's 
age,  and  a  preacher  withal,  made  his  appearance 
at  my  uncle's,  as  a  visitor  of  Becky.  Nat  hated 
him  from  the  first,  for  he  was  fond  of  discoursing 
against  intemperance,  and  doubtless  did  so  inten- 
tionally, aiming  his  shafts  at  Nat  in  the  presence 
of  Becky.  She  was  held  a  beauty  by  her  race. 
She  was  now  reduced  to  the  plain  habiliments  of  a 
servant,  and  could  no  more  make  the  display  on 
Sundays  at  the  meeting-house  which  was  her  wont 
in  the  days  of  Nat's  prosperity.  If  we  could  dis- 
sect human  motives  to  their  first  mainspring,  I 
have  no  doubt  we  should  find  Becky's  first  par- 
tiality to  the  preacher  arose  from  his  complimenting 
her  upon  the  plainness  of  her  attire,  with  well- 
directed  observations  upon  the  impropriety  of  ap- 
10 


110  OLD  NAT. 

pearing  in  gayer  habiliments,  for  she  was  anxious 
to  make  it  known  that  choice,  not  necessity,  had 
caused  the  change.  The  result  was,  Becky  joined 
the  church  under  Mooney.  The  next  thing,  her 
conscience  was  troubled  about  the  unceremonious 
manner  in  which  she  had  become  Nat's  wife,  so  she 
discarded  the  old  fellow  eventually.  She  and 
Mooney  held  long  conversations  together,  and  the 
issue  was  that  she  determined  to  be  married  over 
again,  as  she  expressed  it,  but  not  to  Nat. 

The  old  negro  plainly  proved  that  the  demon 
jealousy  is  not  confined  to  its  habitancy  of  a  white 
bosom.  He  was  now  old  and  decrepit,  but  he  re- 
membered well,  and  it  made  his  age  the  more 
desolate,  that  all  his  means,  when  he  had  any,  were 
given,  without  scarcely  a  cent's  expenditure  upon 
himself,  to  one  who  now,  from  compunctions  of 
conscience,  spurned  him  from  her  bed  and  board. 

He  advised  with  me  about  speaking  to  my  uncle 
on  the  matter,  but  I  told  him  it  would  be  of  no  use  ; 
for  he  well  knew,  as  his  own  case  proved,  that  my 
relative  never  interfered  in  such  matters  among  his 
slaves. 

Nat's  only  resource  now  was  in  the  bottle,  and 
he  thanked  his  stars  that  I  was  near  by,  from  whom 
he  could  obtain  the  needful  "bit."  I  could  not 
find  it  in  my  heart  to  refuse  to  add  a  dram  or 
two  to  the  daily  one  my  uncle  allowed  him,  which 
was  always  sent  down  to  him  at  dinner  time.     In 


OLD  NAT.  Ill 

the  morning  early  it  was  that  the  old  fellow  said 
he  most  needed  his  "bitters,"  and  then  it  was  that 
I  used  to  start  one  of  the  little  black  boys  off  to  the 
tavern  on  the  road  for  a  pint  for  Nat.  How  the 
old  toper's  eyes  gloated  on  it  when  it  came  !  In 
fact,  his  long  habits  of  intemperance  had  made 
stimulus  necessary  to  his  existence.  At  least  so 
the  country  doctor  said,  who  was  given  to  stimulus 
himself. 

As  soon  as  Nat  had  his  bottle  filled  in  the  morn- 
ing, he  would  repair  instantly  to  the  barn-yard, 
where,  after  having  poured  into  a  tin  cup  a  con- 
siderable portion  of  "old  rye,''  he  would  fill  from 
the  glowing  udder  of  the  cow  the  remainder  up  to 
the  brim  with  the  warm  milk,  and  take  it  down  as 
a  Virginian  or  Kentuckian  takes  his  "  mint  juleps'' 
at  rising,  with  a  gusto,  a  lighting  up  of  the  eye, 
followed  by  an  immediate  tendency  to  loquacity. 

Alas  for  old  Nat,  it  was  then  that  he  would  come 
and  take  a  seat  by  me,  and  live  his  life  over  again. 
How  he  would  chuckle  as  he  reminded  me  of  the 
time  I  had  to  sleep  out  all  night,  and  how  he  would 
laugh  over  Lem  and  his  "  dyspeptus  pills." 

After  taking  his  morning  bitters,  Nat  touched 
not  again  through  the  day  except  at  dinner,  when 
he  disposed  of  the  dram  which  my  uncle  sent  him. 
But  at  night,  and  particularly  if  "Parson  Joe" 
came  over  to  see  Becky,  he  was  sure  to  have  re- 


112  OLD  NAT. 

course  to  the  black  bottle,  which  was  as  sure  to  be 
ready  for  my  "bit"  in  the  morning. 

Besides  the  pocket-money  that  Nat  gathered 
between  my  uncle  and  myself,  my  relative  fre- 
quently gave  him  vegetables,  fruits,  &c,  which  he 
sold  to  the  neighbors.  After  my  relative  had  set 
out  his  early  York  cabbages,  he  told  Nat  that  he 
might  have  all  the  "plantings"  that  were  left, 
which  amounted  to  a  thousand  or  more,  and  were 
selling  at  twenty-five  cents  per  hundred.  Happy 
in  the  opportunity  of  putting  so  much  "grog- 
money"  in  his  pocket,  Nat  went  forth  among  the 
neighbors  to  effect  sales.  There  was  an  old  man 
near  by  named  Tatem,  who  was  always  called 
Squire  Tatem,  from  the  fact  that  the  governor  had 
given  him  a  commission  in  the  magistracy.  This 
commission  brought  Tatem  little  more  than  the 
dignity,  for  there  were  squires  enough  before  he 
was  made  one.  He  had  kept  an  extensive  shoe- 
store  in  Baltimore,  and  failed.  He  lived  at  this 
time  on  a  little  farm  of  few  acres,  which  previous 
to  his  failure  he  had  deeded  to  his  wife.  The  front 
of  Tatem's  barn  bounded  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  road  from  my  uncle's,  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
below  the  termination  of  his  estate.  As  Tatem 
had  been  used  to  a  town  life,  and  liked  company, 
it  was  his  custom,  whenever  the  weather  permitted, 
to  leave  his  house,  which  was  situated  a  hundred 
or  more  yards  off  of  the  road,  and  take  his  station 


OLD  NAT.  113 

by  the  road  fence,  leaning  thereon,  and  stopping 
-whatever  passengers  he  chanced  to  know  in  their 
way  to  and  from  town,  to  learn  the  news. 

Nat  had  sold  four  hundred  of  his  early  York 
"  plantings  "  to  Squire  Tatem,  but  on  their  delivery 
the  Squire  had  failed  to  make  payment,  and  had 
put  Nat  off  from  time  to  time,  whenever  the  old 
negro  had  requested  him  thereto.  One  day  Nat 
came  to  me  and  stated  his  grievance,  saying, 

"You  must  know,  Master  William,  that  I  sold 
him,  that  Squire  Tatem,  the  four  hundred  early 
York  plantings  at  twenty-five  cents  a  hundred. 
You  can  see  how  good  they  was,  for  look  at  old 
master's  and  look  at  the  Squire's  or  mine,  for  mine 
they  are,  when  you  pass  by  his  place.  Finer  early 
Yorks  the  hand  of  black  or  white  man  never 
planted.  Well,  after  I  handed  'em  to  him,  he  said 
he  had  no  change  then,  an'  that  he  would  pay  me 
the  first  time  he  seed  me.  I  let  him,  Master  Wil- 
liam, see  me  every  time  I  had  a  chance  for  a  full 
month  afterwards,  but  he  never  said  a  word.  So 
one  day  I  meets  him  down  at  the  tavern  on  the 
road,  where  there  was  a  quantity  of  gentlemen, 
an'  I  says  to  him  as  purlite  as  possible,  taking  off 
my  hat  at  the  same  time,  i  Servant,  Squire,'  says 
I.  '  Nathaniel,  my  worthy,' — he  called  me  at  full 
length,  Nathaniel — 'Nathaniel,  my  worthy,'  says 
he,  very  kind,  'how's  your  health?'  Says  I,  'I 
thanks  you,  Squire,  very  kindly,  my  rheumatiz  is 
10* 


114  OLD  NAT. 

better — how  does  'em  early  Yorks  come  on?' 
'  Early  Yorks,'  says  he,  snapping  his  eye  quickly 
at  me.  'Oh,  my  line  fellow,  near  the  road?  Ad- 
mirably. Your  master  never  had  any  like  them, 
hey?'  'Yes,  Master  Squire,'  says  I,  'them  ere 
come  from  old  master's  ;  they're  growing  first 
rate,  and,  Squire,'  says  I,  making  a  low  purlite 
bow,  'Nat  would  be  your  'bedient  servant,  if  you 
would  let  him  have  that  change  for  'em !'  '  Change,' 
said  he;  'them  few  plantings  I  got  from  you  wasn't 
worth  a  snap;  it's  my  opinion  you  stole  'em  from 
your  master,  you  drunken  vagabond;  I  shall  call 
and  see  him ;  but  for  my  respect  for  him  I  should 
commit  you  to  jail  right  off.'  Then  Bob  Hollands 
told  him  that  the  receiver  was  as  bad  as  the  thief. 
How  everybody  did  laugh ;  but  the  Squire  looked 
so  angry  at  me  that  I  thought  it  best  to  leave,  so  I 
did." 

"Have  you  ever  spoken  to  him  since  about  the 
matter?"  I  asked. 

"Yes,  Master  William;  the  other  day  I  finds 
him  leaning  over  the  fence ;  and  he  told  me  if  I 
ever  spoke  to  him  in  the  company  of  gentlemen 
about  such  things  again,  that  he  would  cowhide  me 
the  first  time  he  caught  me  on  the  road.  He  said 
when  he  had  any  change  he'd  let  me  know,  without 
my  axing  for  it.  Now,  Master  William,  you  knows 
the  law;  what  are  a  colored  man  to  do  under  them 
circumstances?" 


OLD  NAT.  115 

"Was  there  no  white  person  by,"  I  asked,  "when 
you  sold  the  cabbages  to  the  Squire  ?" 

"Not  a  soul,  black  or  white,  Master  William." 

"It's  a  pity,  Nat,"  I  replied,  "that  he  did  not 
confess  the  debt  in  the  presence  of  some  of  those 
gentlemen  at  the  tavern.  You  are  now  a  free  man, 
and  you  could  sue  him  for  the  amount,  and  bring 
one  of  those  gentlemen  to  prove  that  he  confessed 
the  debt." 

"Ha,  now  I  understand  it,  Master  "William. 
That's  the  reason  why  the  Squire  didn't  want  to 
hear  anything  of  it  before  them  are  gentlemen;  he 
knew  I  could  make  him  pay.  So,  if  he  was  to 
confess,  in  the  presence  of  a  white  person,  as  how 
he  owed  me  the  money,  then  I  could  sue  him,  and 
make  him  pay." 

"Precisely  so,  Nat,"  I  replied.  Nat  chuckled 
to  himself,  and  then  said:  "The  Squire'll  find  I'm 
not  such  a  cabbage-head  as  he  takes  me  for." 

A  week  or  so  after  this,  and  when  I  had  for- 
gotten the  circumstance,  Nat  was  one  day  driving 
me  into  the  city  in  the  carriage.  As  we  approached 
Squire  Tatem's,  Nat  turned  round,  and  said  quickly 
to  me: — 

"Master  William,  there's  the  Squire  now.  Don't 
let  him  see  you,  and  just  mark,  now,  how  I'll  tickle 
him  along  about  the  cabbage.  If  I  stops,  he'll 
think  of  a  konsekence  there's  nobody  in."  Ac- 
cordingly, with  great  respect,  Nat  spoke   to  the 


116  OLD  NAT. 

Squire,  and  was  immediately  asked  by  him  what 
the  news  was." 

"Nothing  'tickler,  Squire.  I  hopes  you  is  well 
to-day,  sir." 

"Very  well,  Nathaniel;  how's  your  master?" 

"Well,  I  tanks  you,  Squire.  How  nice  your 
place  looks  !  You  beats  up  the  whole  of  us  all  hol- 
low, Squire,  a-gardening." 

"Yes,  the  place  looks  pretty  well.  What  do  you 
think  of  those  cabbages,  you  rascal,  hey?"  and 
the  Squire  spoke  half  humorously. 

"  That  is  a  great  soil,  yours,  Squire ;  ours  is 
nothing  like  'em." 

"Why  didn't  you  say  so,  then,  the  other  day, 
you  black  scamp,  when  I  asked  you?" 

"I  didn't  like,  Squire,  to  run  down  things  at 
home  before  company." 

"Ha,  ha!  you  don't,  hey?  But  you  come  dun- 
ning before  company,  do  you?" 

"You  wouldn't  hear  me  through,  then,  Squire; 
I  was  gwine  to  say,  when  you  stopped  me,  that 
master  talked  about  buying  that  cider-press  of 
yourn,  to  get  all  ready  for  the  cider  season." 

"That  was  it,  hey?  I  have  said  I  would  sell  it 
to  a  neighbor,  so  I  will." 

"Master  wants  me  to  look  at  it,  Squire." 

"Ay,  come  and  do  so,  Nathaniel,  as  you  come 
out,  and  we'll  talk  about  that  little  change  I  owe 
you.     How  much  was  it?" 


OLD  NAT.  117 

"Four  hundred,  Squire,  at  twenty-five  cents  a 
hundred,"  replied  Nathaniel. 

"Yes,  yes,  so  it  is — exactly  right.  I  owe  you 
one  dollar,  Nathaniel,  and  when  your  master  buys 
the  cider-press  I'll  pay  you." 

"Squire,"  exclaimed  Nat,  in  a  changed  tone, 
"  whether  master  buys  that  press  or  not,  you've  got 
to  pay  me.  I  just  tell  you  I  have  a  white  gentle- 
man in  here,  an'  he'll  prove  it."  And  before,  be- 
tween indignation  and  surprise,  the  Squire  could 
reply,  Nat  put  whip  to  his  horses,  and  away  he 
went. 

Nat  informed  me,  a  few  days  afterwards,  that 
he  had  met  the  Squire  on  the  road  since;  that  the 
Squire  "gave  him  a  hard  cussing,  but  chucked  the 
dollar  at  him." 

"Who  can  control  his  fate?"  as  Othello  says. 
Nat  struggled  in  vain  against  his.  Becky,  after 
she  had  discarded  Nat,  and  the  formalities  of  a 
courtship  were  gone  through  with,  married  "Par- 
son Joe."  I  must  do  Joe,  too,  the  justice  to  state, 
that  by  hard  labor  he  obtained  the  means,  before 
the  birth  of  her  first  child  by  him,  of  buying  her 
from  my  uncle.  The  old  gentleman  let  him  have 
her  at  half  her  value,  and  rented  cheaply,  to  her 
husband,  a  cabin  and  lot  on  the  road-side.  Joe 
treats  her  well,  and  is  doing  well.  Joe  never  en- 
tertained any  ill-feeling  towards  Nat,  but,  on  the 
contrary,  treated  him  with  kindness — with  much 


118  OLD  NAT. 

more  than  Becky,  whom  I  have  seen  stand  in 
great  dignity  at  the  door  of  her  own  household,  and 
offer  Nat  three  cents  to  split  wood  for  her,  and  rate 
him  soundly  for  not  splitting  the  money's  worth! 

I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  push  my  fortunes  in 
the  West,  and,  on  the  eve  of  my  departure,  I  left 
the  city,  to  which  I  had  again  returned,  for  the 
purpose  of  spending  a  week  with  my  kind  uncle 
and  aunt.  My  cousins  had  all  married  off,  and 
they  were  the  only  white  persons  on  the  farm. 
There  was  old  Nat,  and  right  glad  was  he  to  see 
me,  and  have  his  bottle  filled;  but  he  felt  desolate 
and  deserted,  and  could  not  get  over  Becky's  treat- 
ment of  him.  Sad,  sad  was  my  parting  with  my 
relatives.  Nat  had  not  driven  the  carriage  for 
some  time,  but  he  asked  permission  to  drive  me 
into  the  city,  on  my  leave-taking,  and  I  could  not 
refuse  him.  Just  as  we  reached  Barnum's  steps, 
we  saw  the  stage  in  which  I  had  taken  my  seat 
turn  from  Market  (now  Baltimore)  Street  into  Cal- 
vert Street.  "Master  William,"  said  old  Nat,  with 
heart  so  full  that  he  could  hardly  speak  it,  "you'll 
never  see  Nat  any  more.  We'll  never  have  any 
more  talks  together.  Though  you're  gwine  far 
over  the  mountains,  you  must  think  of  old  Nat 
when  you're  there;  an'  when  you  write  home, 
you  must  name  me  in  black  and  white,  an'  old 
master'll  read  it  to  me.  If  old  master  lives,  I 
shall  have  a  good  home  as  long  as  I  wants  one ; 


OLD  NAT.  119 

but,  if  he  dies  afore  me,  I  shall  end  my  days  in  the 
poorhouse.  But  it  is  no  matter  where  old  Nat 
dies;  he's  old,  now,  and  of  no  account  nohow  to 
nobody.  Master  William,"  and  here  the  old  fel- 
low's voice  grew  firm  and  admonitory,  "remember 
this  what  I  tell  you  at  our  last  parting.  Master 
William,  arter  the  experience  of  sixty  years,  a 
woman  can  deceive  any  man." 

"The  stage  waits,  sir,"  exclaimed  the  driver  to 
me.  Old  Nat  assisted  me  in,  grasped  my  hand 
convulsively,  but  had  no  words.  The  tears  down 
his  dusky  cheek  spoke  for  him.  Away  we  dashed, 
and  the  last  sight  I  caught  of  my  humble  friend 
was  as  we  whirled  around  the  corner;  he  was 
gazing  after  me  with  a  full  heart.  I  am  still  a 
bachelor.  Nat's  advice  certainly  has  not  confined 
me  to  my  present  solitary  state;  yet  it  is  as  cer- 
tain that  on  many  a  night  of  festivity  in  lighted 
hall,  and  on  many  a  moonlight  ramble,  his  words 
have  crossed  me  like  the  disenchanting  power  of 
some  ugly  old  elf  o'er  the  wanderer  in  fairy  land. 


'OLD  KENTUCKY 

A   TEUE    STORY. 


"0!  Kentucky, 
The  hunters  of  Kentucky." — Western  Song. 

Some  years  since  I  left  Pittsburg  in  a  first-rate 
steamer,  on  my  way  to  New  Orleans.  I  was  bound 
upon  a  rare  trip  of  pleasure,  and,  full  of  health 
and  the  excitement  consequent  upon  it,  was  alive 
to  every  scene  around  and  every  character  about 
me.  And  the  characters  upon  our  western  waters, 
fifteen  years  ago,  had  more  character  in  them  ;  just 
as  the  scenes  around  one  had  more  of  nature  in 
them  than  now,  inasmuch  as  art  had  not  displayed 
as  much  of  her  power  there  as  she  has  since ;  a 
power  which,  with  enlightened  laws  and  republican 
institutions,  is  destined,  as  I  believe,  to  make  the 
West  the  model  land  of  the  world. 

One  day,  I  think  it  was  the  day  after  we  left 
Pittsburg,  we  saw  a  white  man,  with  a  black  boy 
beside  him,  evidently  designing  to  take  passage,  as 


OLD  KENTUCK.  121 

the  boy  was  waving,  with  might  and  main,  a  large 
handkerchief  on  the  end  of  a  stick.  Impatient 
that  the  steamboat,  by  her  movements,  indicated 
no  notice,  on  the  part  of  her  officers,  of  the  signal 
aforesaid,  the  white  man  took  the  stick,  which 
proved  to  be  a  ramrod,  from  the  hand  of  the  negro, 
and,  leaning  on  a  rifle  which  he  held  in  his  hand, 
waved  it,  with  a  good  deal  of  emphasis  in  his  man- 
ner, while  we  could  hear  his  stentorian  voice  (it 
was  indeed  stentorian,  to  reach  us  at  that  distance), 
exclaiming:  "Hello!" 

" Hello!"  replied  a  voice  from  the  upper  deck 
of  our  steamer,  the  Fort  Adams. 

"It's  Samson,"  exclaimed  the  captain,  who  was 
standing  on  the  guards  beside  a  crowd  of  us; 
"round  to." 

No  sooner  said  than  done.  As  the  boat  ap- 
proached the  parties,  Samson  exclaimed:  "Why, 
you  are  blind  as  a  horse-blanket — blind  as  your 
boat.  I  don't  stand  so  low  that  you  can't  see  me, 
do  I  ?  I !  I  stand  six  feet  four  inches  in  my  stock- 
ing feet,  and  I  waved  this  handkerchief  as  many 
feet  over  my  head  besides." 

"  Who  do  you  think  is  looking  out  for  you  from 
the  wheelhouse  ?"  replied  the  pilot.  "  You're  big 
enough  to  look  out  for  yourself,  and  you're  big 
enough  to  be  a  snag,  old  fellow — but  I'd  rather  see 
you  on  the  shore  than  in  the  river.  But  I  am 
keeping  a  sharp  lookout  ahead,  here — we  hit  a 
11 


122  OLD  KENTUCK. 

snag  somewhere  about  here  last  time.  How  would 
you  like  to  hire  out  to  Uncle  Sam  for  a  light- 
house ?  A  little  more  liquor,  and  your  face  would 
go  without  any  other  light." 

"  Ha,  Rogers,  is  that  you,  you  thief  you  ?  That's 
a  Joe  Miller — you  stole  it  from  old  FalstafF  in  the 
play,  about  that  chap  whose  nose  lit  him  up  the 
hill  at  night.  I  hope  you  don't  extend  your 
thieveries  to  other  matters." 

"It's  no  thievery,  Kentuck,''  replied  Rogers — 
"  it's  only  like  a  parson's  text,  which  anybody  has 
the  right  to  apply — well  applied,  I  drawed  the 
inference,  old  boy." 

"Yes,"  replied  old  Kentuck,  as  he  was  called, 
"  you'll  have  a  bee  line  drawed  upon  you  some  of 
these  days,  in  consequence  of  that  tongue  of  yours 
— everybody  that  knows  you,  knows  that  yours 
is  no  slander — but  never  mind,  you'll  meet  with 
a  stranger,  some  of  these  short  days,  and  that  will 
be  like  a  snag  to  your  boat."  By  this  time  our 
yawl  had  received  old  Kentuck,  and  I  saw  the 
black  boy  deposit  the  traveller's  trunk  in  it,  while 
that  individual  deposited  a  piece  of  silver  in  his 
hand,  which  glittered  like  the  ivory  the  darkey  ex- 
hibited on  the  occasion. 

"  Take  care  of  yourself,  Pomp,  and  mind  what 
I  told  you." 

"  Yes,  Master  Samson,  you  'pend  'pon  me; 
there's  no  mistake  in  this  nigger." 


OLD  KENTUCK.  123 

"  That's  a  tall  man,"  I  said  to  the  captain,  as 
Old  Kentuck  sprang  upon  the  deck,  rifle  in  hand. 

"  Tall,"  rejoined  the  captain  ;  "  well,  he's  tall 
in  a  good  many  ways  ;  he's  what  we  call  a  "  case." 
He's  a  pilot  going  down  to  New  Orleans,  to  bring 
the  Emperor  up,  as  he  wrote  me.  I've  been  ex- 
pecting to  find  him  somewhere  along  shore  here." 

Soon  the  Kentuckian  was  up  stairs,  shaking  the 
captain  by  the  hand  in  the  most  cordial  manner. 
Old  Kentuck  was  certainly  a  character.  He 
wore  a  pair  of  pants,  with  enormous  stripes  in 
them  :  a  most  preposterous  pattern  !  his  vest  was 
of  rich  silk,  of  a  gorgeous  fashion,  while  around 
his  neck  he  had  a  cross-barred  neckcloth  of  black 
and  red,  tied  in  a  curious  kind  of  knot,  in  which 
he  seemed  to  pride  himself.  A  loose  frock-coat, 
brown,  and  with  a  brown  velvet  collar  thrown 
back,  covered  his  body,  while  his  head  was  adorned 
with  a  huge  foxskin  cap,  with  the  tale  of  Reynard 
fantastically  curled  above  it.  But  the  face  of  the 
stranger  was  certainly  attractive.  Across  the 
"broad  Atlantic  of  his  countenance,"  as  some  one 
said  of  Charles  James  Fox,  there  played  a  con- 
tinued sunshine  of  cheerfulness  and  good-nature  ; 
at  the  same  time  that  his  clear  blue  eye  and  the 
occasional  compression  of  his  well-defined  lips, 
showed  a  nature  that  might  be  waked  up  to  des- 
perate deeds. 

"  Samson,  does  that  Pomp  belong  to  you  ?" 


124  OLD  KENTUCK. 

"Yes,  sir-ee — -why?" 

"  I  want  a  hand." 

"  Well,  you  can  take  him,  and  give  me  what's 
right — ha !  ha  !  Capting,  do  you  know  Pomp's 
father,  old  Dave  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  Well,  the  old  rascal  has  turned  Mormon  ;  he 
sees  sights  and  has  visions,  and  talks  about 
another  book  of  Mormon.  He's  great  on  fore- 
knowledge. The  other  day,  Dave  comes  to  me 
with  the  most  awful  face  you  ever  saw  a  nigger 
carry,  and  said  he  wished  to  speak  to  me  apart. 
Apart  I  went  with  him,  and  after  glancing  around 
fearfully  and  with  an  ominous  look,  he  said : 
'  Master,  I'se  got  something  of  highest  consekence 
to  tell. you.'  'What's  that,  Dave?'  'Why,  master, 
you  don't  believe  in  the  book  of  Mormon  and 
visions,  but  my  duty  to  you  is  nevertheless  my 
duty.' — '  That's  good,  Dave,'  I  replied;  '  there's 
Christianity  in  that !  '  Master,  there's  Mormon  in 
it,  and  the  truth  is,  I've  had  a  dream  now  for  the 
third  night  in  secession — and  being,  as  you  always 
have  been,  a  good  master  to  me,  and  kind,  I 
thought  I  ought  to  tell  you  that,  according  to  them 
three  dreams,  dreamed  three  nights  in  secession, 
I  shall  die  next  Sunday  night,  and  see  Joe  Smith 
to  a  certainty.'  '  Well,  Dave,'  says  I,  '  I  am  very 
much  obliged  to  you — seeing  that  your  end's  so 
near,  it's  a  gratification  for  me  to  know  that  I  have 


OLD  KENTUCK.  125 

been  a  good  master  to  you — a  great  gratification, 
as  you  are  near  your  end;  and  being,  Dave,  as,  you 
know,  you  cost  me  six  hundred  dollars,  and  I  can't 
afford  to  lose  you,  as  it  is  a-going  to  please  the 
Lord  to  take  you  on  Sunday,  I  shall,  the  Lord 
willing,  put  you  in  my  pocket  in  the  shape  of 
seven  hundred  dollars  next  Saturday.  Old  Bowler 
will  give  that  for  you,  for  he  told  me  so — and 
though  he  is  a  hard  master,  you  can  escape  him,  at 
least  for  one  day,  especially  as  he  belongs  to 
church,  and  never  flogs  on  Sunday,  and  you'll  have 
your  clearance  that  night." 

"Whew,"  ejaculated  the  captain,  "ha!  ha!  ha!" 

"  Yes — I  come  it,  didn't  I  ?  Dave  called  on  me 
the  next  morning  early — he  had  been  watching  to 
see  me  come  out,  thinking  that  I  might  slip  over 
the  back  way  to  Bowler's,  and  told  me  that  he  had 
had  seven  dreams  that  very  night,  assuring  him 
that  he  should  live  a  very  long  time,  and  that  it 
was  very  wrong  anyway  to  believe  in  dreams. 
Pomp  said  his  daddy  was  a  fool ;  the  old  man 
overheard  it  and  licked  him  for  it — so  Pomp  was 
the  fool  after  all.  What's  the  news,  captain — any- 
thing up  stream?" 

"Nothing,"  replied  the  captain. 

"Any  boats  up  ?" 

"No — did  you  see  the  Shelby." 

"  Yes,  she's  just  below  here  in  the  bend,  getting 
her  shaft  mended." 

11* 


126  OLD  KENTUCK. 

"  I'll  pass  her,  then,"  said  the  captain ;  and  he 
proceeded  below. 

Soon  the  accelerated  speed  of  our  boat  slaved 
that  the  captain  had  ordered  a  press  of  steam,  and 
we  were  dashing  gallantly  through  the  beautiful 
Ohio,  while  the  heavy  waves  on  either  side  of  us 
ran  rippling  to  the  shore. 

In  the  bend,  sure  enough,  we  soon  discovered  the 
Shelby,  on  board  of  which  boat  it  was  evident  our 
appearance  created  some  commotion.  It  appears 
that  she  had  just  finished  the  repair  of  her  shaft, 
and  was  about  leaving  the  shore  as  we  drew  in 
sight. 

"  Ha,  ha,"  said  Old  Kentuck,  leaning  on  his 
rifle,  which  was  as  long  as  he  was  tall,  "  she  looks 
like  trying  if  she  can  beat  you." 

"  Don't  know, "  said  the  captain  quickly. 
"They've  made  big  bets  on  her  up  at  Pittsburg, 
and  I  can't  stand  everything.  I  say,  Samson,  I 
am  opposed  to  racing,  but  I  can't  stand  every- 
thing." 

"Sometimes  I  won't  stand  anything,"  replied 
Samson. 

"Is  the  Shelby  a  fast  boat?"  I  asked  of  the 
Kentuckian ;  "  I  hope  we  shan't  have  racing." 

"  Racing  !  why,  don't  you  like  excitement, 
stranger — what's  life  without  excitement  ?"  replied 
old  Kentuck  ;  "  a  mud-puddle  to  Niagara.  I  tell 
you,  stranger,  in  dull  times,  and  when  a  man  don't 


OLD  KENTUCK.  127 

choose  to  take  liquor,  and  sometimes  I  don't 
choose — I  go  and  sleep  over  the  boiler,  bj  way  of 
excitement." 

"  Do  you  ?  That's  a  tall  rifle,"  I  said. 

"  Tall — it's  just  as  tall  as  I  am.  You've  hearn 
tell  of  Capting  Scott,  who  was  such  a  tall  shot 
that  the  coon  came  down  as  soon  as  he  saw  him 
and  give  in — haven  t  you?" 

"  I  have,"  replied  I,  laughing. 

"  Well,  this  is  the  rifle  that  did  it — Capting 
Scott  wouldn't  have  been  anything  without  the 
rifle,  would  he  ?  I  don't  say  I  ever  had  a  talk  with 
a  coon,  but  I  do  say  that  this  rifle  can  talk  to 
them,  and  that  I  can  bring  one  down  from  just  as 
big  a  distance  as  he  can." 

I  took  the  Kentuckian's  rifle  in  my  hand,  and 
after  feeling  the  weight  of  it,  handed  it  back  to 
him. 

"Love  me,  love  my  dog  !"  said  he — "  ha  !  ha  ! 
I  had  a  hearty  laugh  to  myself  the  other  day. 
Them  Frenchmen,  you  don't  think  they  are  civil- 
ized, stranger,  do  you?" 

"  Civilized — why,  they  think  themselves  the 
most  civilized  nation  in  the  world." 

"  "Well,  they're  mistaken,  that's  all — it's  con- 
founded easy  for  a  man  or  men  to  get  mistaken  in 
themselves.  I  was  reading  the  other  day  how  some 
Frenchmen  tried  to  blow  Napoleon  up  with  what 
they  called  an  "  infernal  machine." — Bah,  it's  the 


128  OLD  KENTUCK. 

most  foolish  contrivance  I  ever  heard  of;  it  put  me 
in  mind  of  the  Irishman  now  who  went  to  spear  a 
fish  with  a  scythe,  and  cut  his  own  head  off.  Ha, 
but  let  them  put  me  anywhere  in  a  fifth  or  tenth 
story,  just  where  I  can  see  his  majesty's  nose  as 
he  goes  by  in  his  carriage,  I  don't  care  if  fifty 
horses  are  going  it  at  a  leap,  and  he  behind  them 
— it  ain't  as  fast  as  a  bird  on  the  wing  is  it,  or 
worse  than  a  squirrel  on  the  top  of  a  tree  ?  Well, 
just  let  him  show  his  nose,  and  I'd  put  a  bullet 
between  the  peepers  of  the  Lord's  anointed  cer- 
tainly." 

"Yes,  I  expect  you  could." 

"  And  no  mistake. — No,  sir,  because  Frenchmen 
teach  dancing,  you  call  them  civilized.  Why, 
stranger,  I've  been  among  various  folks,  and  the 
Indians  dance  more  than  the  French  do.  Firearms 
is  the  invention  of  civilization,  ain't  it?" 

"  Yes,  I  understand  so." 

"  Well,  the  rifle  is  the  best  kind  of  firearms — 
it's  the  highest  point  of  civilization,  I  maintain. — 
Ha  !  there  she  comes — this  boat  can't  stand  it  with 
the  Shelby."  By  this  time  all  was  excitement  on 
board  the  Fort  Adams.  The  Shelby  was  a  larger 
and  faster  boat,  and  she  was  pressing  us  hard.  I 
could  hear  the  barkeeper  calling  out  to  the  steward 
for  more  ice — and,  as  I  glanced  towards  the  bar,  I 
discovered  a  crowd  of  persons  in  excited  talk, 
drinking ;  among  them  was  the  captain. 


OLD  KENTUCK.  129 

"  Come,  let's  go  on  the  hurricane  deck,''  said 
Kentuck,  "  and  see  how  matters  look." 

As  we  entered  the  cabin  to  go  forward  and 
ascend  to  the  hurricane  deck  that  way,  a  number 
of  ladies  rushed  from  their  cabin  towards  us,  ex- 
claiming— 

"  Gentlemen,  they  are  racing  ;  they'll  blow  us 
all  up,  gentlemen." 

"Ladies,  don't  be  frightened,"  said  old  Kentuck, 
in  a  manner  of  exceeding  courtesy,  at  the  same 
time  taking  off  his  fox-skin. 

"Oh!  sir,"  exclaimed  a  beautiful,  delicate  look- 
ing lady  to  him  in  an  agony  of  terror,  "  don't  let 
them  race;  I  had  a  brother  and  sister  lost  on  the 
Mozelle." 

"Don't  be  frightened,  my  good  lady,  don't  be 
frightened,"  rejoined  the  Kentuckian ;  and,  shaking 
her  hand,  he  proceeded  to  the  hurricane  deck. 

The  Shelby  was  "barking"  after  us  like  a  blood- 
hound from  the  slip.  There  was  quite  an  expanse 
of  water  in  this  place,  but,  as  I  learned  from  the 
Kentuckian,  who  was  an  old  pilot,  and  acquainted 
with  every  foot  of  the  river,  the  channel  here  was 
very  devious  and  dangerous.  The  captain  came  to 
the  Kentuckian's  side  with  a  flushed  cheek,  and 
asked, 

"  What  do  you  think  of  it,  Samson?" 

"If  I  had  the  strength  of  my  namesake,"  replied 
the  Kentuckian,   "  I'd  swim   out  and  chuck  that 


130  OLD  KENTUCK. 

boat,  cargo,  passengers  and  all  ashore ;  as  it  is, 
she  is  too  fast  for  us,  and  I  always  knew  it.  I  told 
you  Bob  Albert,  the  pilot  there,  has  been  on  a  bust 
for  this  week  past ;  they  sent  their  yawl  ashore 
when  they  saw  me  this  morning,  wanting  to  learn 
something  about  another  pilot.  Beattie's  sick;  and 
I  saw  then  Albert  was  tight ;  he  swore  you  should 
not  beat  them  if  they  blew  everything  up.  I  tell 
you,  capting,  it's  my  opinion  they'll  be  into  us;  the 
channel  is  too  narrow  here  for  them  to  pass  us ; 
and  they're  got  such  a  head  of  steam  on,  and  they 
are  so  much  bigger  than  we  are,  that  if  they  come 
agin  us,  we  are  gone." 

"  Kentuck,"  called  out  Rogers  from  the  wheel- 
house,  "just  step  here  a  moment.  You  know  the 
channel  better  than  I  do.  I  wonder  what  those 
rascals  mean  ?" 

The  meaning  seemed  to  be  to  my  eye  a  resolve 
to  run  us  down  ;  the  smoke  ascended  black  and 
sulphury  from  her  chimneys,  with  occasional 
flashes  of  volcanic  fire,  that  showed  he  had  all  the 
steam  on  possible.  He  gained  on  us  evidently, 
while  the  excited  crowd  on  her  hurricane  deck  and 
guards  repeatedly  hurrawed,  as,  by  the  orders  of 
the  mate,  they  stepped  to  the  centre  of  the  boat, 
to  keep  her  righted. 

The  noise  they  made  and  their  evident  approach, 
with  the  fearful  trembling  of  our  boat,  for.  we  had 
all  steam  on,  too,  so  alarmed  the  ladies  that,  follow- 


OLD  KENTUCK.  131 

ing  impulse  rather  than  reason,  for  they  would 
have  been  safest  perhaps  in  the  cabin,  they  hur- 
ried on  to  the  hurricane  deck,  and  the  one  that  I 
have  before  spoken  of  rushed  to  Samson,  who  was 
at  the  wheel,  and  begged  him  not  to  race  any 
more. 

"  Kentuck,"  said  Rogers,  "  they'll  be  into  us — 
it's  my  opinion  they  mean  to  run  us  down — they 
must  be  all  drunk  there." 

"Pretty  much  so,"  replied  the  Kentuckian ; 
"  Bob  Albert  was  in  for  it  early  this  morning  ; 
he's  the  only  pilot  on  board ;  that  is,  Beattie  is 
down  with  a  fever  mighty  low — Bob  hates  your 
capting  here,  and  when  he's  tight  he's  perfectly 
crazy." 

"  We  shall  all  be  lost — we  shall  all  be  lost,"  ex- 
claimed the  young  lady,  "  0  !  Mr.  Old  Kentucky 
save  us." 

"  Old  Kentucky  will  do  that,  my  dear  young 
lady,  if  he  has  to  shoot  the  rascal  at  the  wheel ; 
they're  bent  on  running  us  down — self-preserva- 
tion is  the  first  law  of  nature — if  two  men  are 
grappling  for  the  same  plank  at  sea,  which  will 
hold  but  one,  each  has  the  right  to  push  the  other 
off  if  he  can — that's  law  I'm  told,  though  I  never 
thought  it  was  exactly  fair,  especially  if  the  weaker 
man  had  got  the  plank  first — however,  if  these 
fellows  run  into  us  it  will  be  a  clear  case  of  mur- 
der, and  they  are  hardly  six  lengths  off.    Hang  it, 


132  OLD  KENTUCK. 

these  boats  bark  so  that  you  can  hardly  hear 
yourself  talk.  Halloo,  there,  what  are  you  after  ? 
Look  out !  Here,  Rogers,  you  take  the  wheel  a 
moment,  and  hand  me  my  rifle — you  see  it's  ne- 
cessity." 

"Don't  kill  him,"  exclaimed  Rogers,  neverthe- 
less complying  with  his  request. 

"  Kill  him  !  no,  but  I'll  just  break  that  right  arm 
of  his  between  the  wrist  and  elbow,  the  first  time 
he  shows  it  fairly." 

So  saying,  theKentuckian  deliberately  lifted  his 
rifle  to  his  shoulder.  We  all  felt  our  danger  too 
much  to  interfere  or  even  to  say  a  word.  In  a 
moment  more  the  sharp  report  of  the  rifle  was 
heard,  all  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  pilot  of  the 
Shelby.  In  an  instant  his  arm  fell  lifeless  to  his 
side,  and  the  Shelby,  uncontrolled,  rushed  on  to  a 
shallow  bar  just  beside  her,  and  in  another  moment 
was  fast  aground. 


A  FROLIC  AMONG  THE  LAWYERS. 


CHAPTER  I. 


I  was  born  in  the  South.  I  had  very  bad  health 
there  in  my  early  childhood,  and  a  maiden  aunt 
took  a  voyage  by  sea,  from  Baltimore  to  my  birth- 
place, for  the  purpose  of  returning  with  me  to  a 
climate  which  the  physician  had  said  would 
strengthen  my  constitution. 

She  brought  me  up  with  the  greatest  kindness, 
or  rather,  I  should  say,  she  kept  me  comparatively 
feeble  by  her  over-care  of  my  health.  When  I  was 
about  fourteen  years  of  age  my  father  brought  my 
mother  and  my  little  sister  Virginia  from  Charles- 
ton to  see  me.  My  meeting  with  my  kind  mother 
I  shall  never  forget.  She  held  me  at  arm's  length 
for  a  instant,  to  see  if  she  could  recognize  in  the 
chubby  boy  before  her,  the  puny  sickly  child  with 
whom  she  had  parted  with  such  fond  regret  on 
board  the  Caroline  but  a  fewyears  before ;  and  when, 
in  memory  and  in  heart,  she  recognized  each  linea- 
12 


134  A  FROLIC  AMONG  THE  LAWYERS. 

ment,  she  clasped  me  to  her  bosom  with  a  -wild 
hysteric  joy  which  compensated  her — more  than 
compensated  her — she  said,  for  all  the  agony 
which  our  separation  had  caused  her.  I  loved  my 
mother  devotedly,  yet  I  wondered  at  the  emotion 
which  she  exhibited  at  our  meeting ;  and  child 
though  I  was,  a  sense  of  unworthiness  came  over 
me,  possibly  because  my  affections  could  not  sound 
the  depths  of  hers. 

My  father's  recognition  was  kinder  than  I  had 
expected  from  what  I  remembered  of  our  separation. 
He  felt  prouder  of  me  than  at  our  parting,  I  pre- 
sume from  my  improved  health  and  looks  ;  and  this 
made  him  feel  that  being  tied  to  the  apron-strings 
of  my  good  old  aunt,  would  not  improve  my  man- 
liness. A  gentleman  whom  he  had  met  at  a  dinner 
party,  who  was  the  principal  of  an  academy,  a 
kind  of  miniature  college,  some  distance  from  Bal- 
timore, had  impressed  my  father,  by  his  disquisi- 
tions, with  a  profound  respect  for  such  a  mode  of 
education. 

"  William,"  said  my  father,  in  speaking  on  the 
subject  to  a  friend,  "  will  be  better  there  than  here 
among  the  women ;  he'll  be  a  baby  forever  here. 
No,  I  must  make  a  man  of  him.  I  shall  take  him 
next  week  with  me,  and  leave  him  in  charge  of 
Sears." 

My  mother  insisted  upon  it  that  I  should  stay 
longer,  that  she  might  enjoy  my  society,  and  that 


A  FROLIC  AMONG  THE  LAWYERS.  135 

my  sister  and  myself  might  become  more  attached 
to  each  other  ere  they  returned  to  Carolina.  But 
my  father  said,  "No,  my  dear;  you  know  it  was 
always  agreed  between  us,  that  you  should  bring 
up  Virginia  as  you  pleased,  and  that  I  would  bring 
up  William  as  I  pleased." 

"  Let  us  take  him,  then,  back  home,"  exclaimed 
my  mother  ;  "  he  is  healthy  enough  now." 

"  But  he  would  not  be  healthy  long  there,  my 
dear.  No,  I  have  made  inquiry ;  Mr.  Sears  is  an 
admirable  man;  and  under  his  care,  which  I  am 
satisfied  will  be  paternal,  William  will  improve 
his  mind,  and  learn  to  be  a  man — will  you  not, 
William  ?" 

I  could  only  cling  to  my  mother  without  reply. 

"Here,"  exclaimed  my  father  exultingly,  "you 
see  the  effect  of  his  education  thus  far." 

"  The  effect  of  his  education  thus  far  !"  retorted 
my  aunt,  who  did  not  relish  my  father's  remark ; 
"  he  has  been  taught  to  say  his  prayers,  and  to 
love  his  parents,  and  to  tell  the  truth.  You  see 
the  effects  in  him  now,"  and  she  pointed  to  me, 
seated  on  a  stool  by  my  mother. 

All  this  made  no  impression  on  my  father.  He 
was  resolved  that  I  should  go  to  Bel- Air,  the 
county  town  of  Harford  County,  Md.,  situated 
about  twenty-four  miles  from  Baltimore,  where  the 
school  was,  the  next  week,  and  he  so  expressed 
himself  decidedly. 


136  A  FROLIC  AMONG  THE  LAWYERS. 

The  condemned  criminal,  who-  counts  the  hours 
that  speed  to  his  execution,  scarcely  feels  more 
horror  at  the  rush  of  time  than  I  did.  One  ap- 
palling noiv  seemed  to  possess  me.  I  was  deeply- 
sensitive,  and  the  dread  of  my  loneliness  away 
from  all  I  loved,  and  the  fear  of  the  ridicule  and 
tyranny  of  the  oldsters,  haunted  me  so  that  I  could 
not  sleep,  and  I  laid  awake  all  night  picturing  to 
myself  what  would  be  the  misery  of  my  situation 
at  Bel- Air.  In  fact,  when  the  day  arrived,  I  bade 
my  mother,  aunt,  and  my  little  sister  Virginia  fare- 
well, with  scarcely  a  consciousness,  and  was  placed 
in  the  gig  by  my  father,  as  the  stunned  criminal  is 
assisted  into  the  fatal  cart. 

This  over-sensitiveness — what  a  curse  it  is  !  I 
lay  no  claims  to  genius,  and  yet  I  have  often 
thought  it  hard  that  I  should  have  the  quality 
which  makes  the  "  fatal  gift  "  so  dangerous,  and 
not  the  gift.  My  little  sister  Virginia,  who  had 
been  my  playmate  for  weeks,  cried  bitterly  when 
I  left  her.  I  dwelt  upon  her  swimming  eye  with 
mine,  tearless  and  stony  as  death.  The  waters  of 
bitterness  had  gathered  around  my  heart,  but  had 
not  as  yet  found  an  outlet  from  their  icy  thrall, 
'neath  which  theyjlowed  dark  and  deep. 

Bel-Air,  at  the  time  I  write  of,  was  a  little  vil- 
lage of  some  twenty-five  or  more  houses,  six  of 
which  were  taverns.  It  was  and  is  a  county  town, 
and  court  was  regularly  held  there,  to  which  the 


A  FROLIC  AMONG  THE  LAWYERS.  137 

Baltimore  lawyers  used  to  flock  in  crowds  ;  and 
many  mad  pranks  have  I  known  them  to  play  there 
for  their  own  amusement,  if  not  for  the  edification 
of  the  pupils  of  Mr.  Sears. 

My  father  drew  up  at  McKenney's  tavern,  and 
as  it  was  about  twelve  when  we  arrived,  and  the 
pupils  were  dismissed  to  dinner,  he  sent  in  his  card 
to  the  principal,  who  in  a  few  minutes  made  his 
appearance.  Talk  of  a  lover  watching  the  move- 
ments and  having  impressed  upon  his  memory  the 
image  of  her  whom  he  loveth  ! — the  school-boy 
has  a  much  more  vivid  recollection  of  his  teacher. 
Mr.  Sears  was  a  tall,  stout  man,  with  broad,  stoop- 
ing shoulders.  He  carried  a  large  cane,  and  his 
step  was  as  decided  as  ever  was  Dr.  Busby's,  who 
would  not  take  off  his  hat  when  the  King  visited 
his  school,  for  the  reason,  as  he  told  his  Majesty 
afterwards,  that  if  his  scholars  thought  that  there 
was  a  greater  man  in  the  kingdom  than  himself, 
he  never  could  control  them.  The  face  of  Mr. 
Sears  resembled  much  the  likeness  of  Alexander 
Hamilton,  though  his  features  were  more  con- 
tracted, and  his  forehead  had  nothing  like  the 
expansion  of  the  great  statesman's  ;  yet  it  pro- 
jected similarly  at  the  brows.  He  welcomed  my 
father  to  the  village  with  great  courtesy,  and  me 
to  his  pupilage  with  greater  dignity.  He  dined 
with  my  father  with  me  by  his  side,  and  every  now 
and  then  he  would  pat  me  on  the  head  and  ask  me 
12* 


138  A  FROLIC  AMONG  THE  LAWYERS. 

a  question.  I  stammered  out  monosyllabic  answers, 
when  the  gentleman  would  address  himself  again 
to  his  plate  with  renewed  gusto. 

Mr.  Sears  recommended  my  father  to  board  me 
at  the  house  of  a  Mr.  Hall,  who  had  formerly  been 
the  Sheriff  of  the  county,  and  whose  wife  and 
daughters,  he  said,  were  very  fine  women.  He  re- 
gretted, he  said,  when  he  first  took  charge  of  the 
academy,  that  there  was  not  some  general  place 
attached  to  it,  where  the  pupils  could  board  in 
common  ;  but  after-reflection  had  taught  him  that 
to  board  them  among  trie  towns-people  would  be  as 
well.  He  remarked  that  I  was  one  of  his  smallest 
pupils,  but  that  he  would  look  upon  me  in  loco  pa- 
?*e?itis,  and  doubted  not  that  he  could  make  a  man 
of  me. 

After  dinner  he  escorted  my  father,  leading  me 
by  the  hand,  down  to  the  academy,  which  was  on 
the  outskirts  of  the  town,  at  the  other  end  of  it 
from  McKenney's.  The  buzz,  which  the  usher  had 
not  the  power  to  control  in  the  absence  of  Mr. 
Sears,  hushed  instantly  in  his  presence,  and  as  he 
entered  with  my  father,  the  pupils  all  rose,  and 
remained  standing  until  he  ordered  them  to  be 
seated.  Giving  my  father  a  seat,  and  placing  me 
in  the  one  which  he  designed  for  me  in  the  school, 
Mr.  Sears  called  several  of  his  most  proficient 
scholars  in  the  different  classes,  from  Homer  down 
to  the  elements  of  English,  and  examined  them. 


A  FROLIC  AMONG  THE  LAWYERS.  139 

When  a  boy  blundered,  he  darted  at  him  a  look 
■which  made  him  shake  in  his  shoes  ;  and  when 
another  boy  gave  a  correct  answer  and  took  his 
fellow's  place,  and  glanced  up  for  Mr.  Sears's  smile, 
it  was  a  picture  which  my  friend  Beard,  of  Cincin- 
nati, would  delight  to  draw.  The  blunderer  looked 
like  one  caught  in  the  act  of  sheep-stealing,  while 
the  successful  pupil  took  his  place  with  an  air  that 
might  have  marked  one  of  Napoleon's  approved 
soldiers,  when  the  Emperor  had  witnessed  an  act 
of  daring  on  his  part.  As  for  Mr.  Sears,  he  thought 
Napoleon  a  common  creature  to  himself.  To  kill 
men,  he  used  to  say,  was  much  more  easy  than  to 
instruct  them.  He  felt  himself  to  be  like  one  of 
the  philosophers  of  old  in  his  academy ;  and  he 
considered  Dr.  Parr  and  Dr.  Busby,  who  boasted 
that  they  had  whipped  every  distinguished  map  in 
the  country,  much  greater  than  he  of  Pharsalia,  or 
he  of  Austerlitz. 

When  the  rehearsal  of  several  classes  had  given 
my  father  a  due  impression  of  Mr.  Sears's  great 
gifts  as  an  instructor,  and  of  his  scholars'  pro- 
ficiency, he  took  my  father  to  Mr.  Hall's,  to  in- 
troduce us  to  my  future  host. 

We  found  the  family  seated  in  the  long  room  in 
which  their  boarders  dined.  To  Mr.  Sears  they 
paid  the  most  profound  respect.  Well  they  might, 
for  without  his  recommendation  they  would  have 
been  without  boarders.     Hall  was   a  tall,  good- 


140  A  FROLIC  AMONG  THE  LAWYERS. 

humored,  careless  man.  His  wife  was  older  than 
himself,  tall  too,  but  full  of  energy.  He  had  two 
daughters,  Harriet  and  Jane. 

Harriet  was  a  quick,  active,  lively  girl,  and 
withal  pretty  ;  whilst  Jane  was  lolling  and  lazy 
in  her  motions,  and  without  either  good  looks  or 
smartness.  The  matter  of  my  boarding  was  soon 
arranged,  and  it  had  become  time  for  my  father  to 
depart.  All  this  while  the  variety  and  excitement 
of  the  scene  had  somewhat  relieved  my  feelings, 
but  when  my  father  bade  me  be  a  good  boy,  and 
drove  off,  I  felt  as  if  the  "  last  link  "  was  indeed 
broken;  and  though  I  made  every  effort,  from  a 
sense  of  shame,  to  repress  my  tears,  it  was  in  vain, 
and  they  broke  forth  the  wilder  from  their  previous 
restraint.  Harriet  Hall  came  up  instantly  to  com- 
fort me.  She  took  a  seat  beside  me  at  the  open 
window  at  which  I  was  looking  out  after  my  father, 
and  with  a  sweet  voice  whose  tones  I  remember  yet, 
she  told  me  not  to  grieve  because  I  was  away  from 
my  friends  ;  that  I  should  soon  see  them  again, 
and  that  she  would  think  I  feared  they  would  not 
be  kind  to  me  if  I  showed  so  much  sorrow.  This 
last  remark  touched  me,  and  whilst  I  was  drying 
my  eyes,  one  of  the  larger  boys,  a  youth  of  eigh- 
teen or  twenty,  came  up  to  the  window  (for  the 
academy  by  this  time  had  been  dismissed  for  the 
evening),  and  said  : — 


A  FROLIC  AMONG  THE  LAWYERS.  141 

"  All,  Miss  Harriet,  is  this  another  baby  crying 
for  home  ?" 

In  an  instant  ray  eyes  were  dried.  I  cast  one 
glance  at  the  speaker  ;  he  was  a  tall,  slim,  reckless- 
looking  fellow,  named  Prettyman,  and  from  that 
day  to  this  I  have  neither  forgotten  it,  nor  I  fear, 
forgiven  him. 

In  the  night,  when  we  retired  to  our  rooms,  I 
found  that  my  bed  was  in  a  room  with  two  others, 
Prettyman  and  a  country  bumpkin  by  the  name  of 
Muzzy.  As  usual  on  going  to  bed,  I  kneeled  down 
to  say  my  prayers,  putting  my  hands  up  in  the 
attitude  of  supplication.  I  had  scarcely  uttered 
to  myself  the  first  words,  "  Our  Father,"  but  to 
the  ear  that  heareth  all  things,  when  Prettyman 
exclaimed — 

"  He's  praying  !  '  By  the  Apostle  Paul !'  as 
Richard  the  Third  says,  that's  against  rules.  Sup- 
pose we  cob  him,  Muzzy  ?" 

Muzzy  laughed  and  got  into  bed ;  and  I  am 
ashamed  to  say  that  I  arose  with  the  prayer 
dying  away  from  my  thoughts,  and  indignation  and 
shame  usurping  them,  and  sneaked  into  bed,  where 
I  said  my  prayers  in  silence,  and  wept  myself  in 
silence  to  sleep.  In  the  morning,  with  a  heavy 
heart,  and  none  but  the  kind  Harriet  to  comfort 
me,  I  betook  myself  to  the  academy. 

Parents  little  know  what  a  sensitive  child  suffers 
at  a  public  school.     I  verily  believe  that    these 


142  A  FROLIC  AMONG  THE  LAWYERS. 

schools  engender  often  more  treachery,  falsehood, 
and  cruelty,  than  exist  in  West  India  slavery  ;  I 
was  about  saying  even  in  the  brains  of  an  aboli- 
tionist. Most  tenderly  nurtured  under  the  care  of 
an  affectionate  old  aunt,  who  was  always  fixing  my 
clothes  to  keep  me  warm,  coddling  up  something 
nice  to  pamper  me  with,  watching  all  my  out-goings 
and  in-comings,  and  seeing  that  everything  around 
me  conduced  to  my  convenience  and  comfort,  the 
contrast  was  indeed  great  when  I  appeared  at  the 
Bel-Air  Academy,  one  of  the  smallest  boys  there, 
and  subjected  to  the  taunts  and  buffetings  of  every 
larger  boy  than  myself  in  the  institution.  My 
father  little  knew  what  agony  it  cost  me  to  be  made 
a  man  of. 

I  am  not  certain  that  the  good  produced  by  such 
academies  is  equal  to  their  evils.  I  remember  well 
for  two  or  three  nights  after  Prettyman  laughed  at 
me,  that  I  crept  into  bed  to  say  my  prayers,  and 
at  last  under  this  ridicule — for  he  practised  his  gift 
on  me  every  night — I  not  only  neglected  to  say 
them,  but  began  to  feel  angry  toward  my  aunt  that 
she  had  ever  taught  them  to  me,  as  they  brought  so 
much  contempt  on  me.  Yet  such  is  the  power  of  con- 
science, at  that  tender  age,  that  when  I  woke  in 
the  morning  of  the  first  night  I  had  not  prayed,  I 
felt  myself  guilty  and  unworthy,  and  went  into 
the  garden  and  wept  aloud  tears  of  sincere  con- 
trition. 


A  FROLIC  AMONG  THE  LAWYERS.  143 

Too  often,  in  public  schools,  the  first  thing  a 
youth  Jearns  from  his  elders,  is  to  laugh  at  pa- 
rental authority,  and  to  exhibit  to  the  ridicule  of 
his  fellows  the  letter  of  advice  which  his  parent  or 
guardian  feels  it  his  duty  to  write  to  him,  taking 
care,  with  a  jest  upon  them,  to  pocket  the  money 
they  send,  with  an  air  of  incipient  profligacy, 
which  any  one  may  see  will  soon  not  only  be  rank 
but  prurient.  Such  a  moral  contagion  should  be 
avoided  ;  and  I  therefore  am  inclined  to  think  that 
the  Catholic  mode  of  tuition,  where  some  one  of 
the  teachers  is  with  the  scholars,  not  only  by  day 
but  by  night,  is  preferable.  And  in  fact  any  one, 
who  has  witnessed  the  respectful  familiarity  which 
they  teach  their  pupils  to  feel  and  exhibit  towards 
them,  and  the  kindness  with  which  it  is  met, 
cannot  but  be  impressed  with  the  truth  of  my 
remarks. 

There  were  nearly  one  hundred  pupils  at  Bel- 
Air,  at  the  period  of  which  I  write,  and  the  only 
assistant  Mr.  Sears  had,  was  a  gaunt  fellow  named 
Dogberry.  Like  his  illustrious  namesake  in  Shaks- 
peare,  from  whom  I  believe  he  was  a  legitimate 
descendant,  he  might  truly  have  been  "  written 
down  an  ass." 

The  boys  invented  all  sorts  of  annoyances  to 
torture  Dogberry  withal.  A  favorite  one  was, 
when  Mr.  Sears  was  in  the  city,  which  was  at 
periods  not  unfrequent,  for  them  to  assemble  in  the 


144  A  FROLIC  AMONG  THE  LAWYERS. 

school  before  Dogberry  came,  and,  setting  one  by 
the  door  to  give  notice  when  the  usher  was  within 
a  few  feet  of  it,  to  begin  as  soon  as  he  appeared 
in  sight,  to  shout  as  with  one  voice — first  "Dog" 
and    then,    after    a    pause,    by   way    of    chorus, 

it  lerryt" 

As  soon  as  notice  was  given  by  the  watcher,  he 
leaped  to  his  seat,  and  every  tongue  was  silent, 
and  every  eye  upon  the  book  before  it. 

The  rage  of  Dogberry  knew  no  bounds  on  these 
occasions.  He  did  not  like  to  tell  the  principal ; 
for  the  circumstance  would  have  proved  not  only 
his  want  of  authority  over  the  boys,  but  the  con- 
tempt in  which  they  held  him. 

A  trick  which  Prettyman  played  him,  nearly 
caused  his  death,  and,  luckily  for  the  delinquent, 
he  was  never  discovered.  Dogberry  was  very  penu- 
rious ;  he  saved  two-thirds  of  his  salary,  and  as  it 
was  not  large,  he  had  of  course  to  live  humbly. 

He  dined  at  Hall's  and  took  breakfast  and  sup- 
per in  his  lodgings,  if  he  ever  took  them,  and 
the  quantity  of  dinner  of  which  he  made  himself 
the  receptacle  caused  it  to  be  doubted.  His  lodg- 
ings were  the  dormant  story  of  a  log-cabin,  to 
which  he  had  entrance  by  a  rough  flight  of  stairs 
without  the  house  and  against  its  side.  Under  the 
stairs  was  a  large  mud-hole,  and  Prettyman  con- 
trived one  gusty  night  to  pull  them  down,  with  the 
intention  of  calling  the  usher,  in  the  tone  of  Mr. 


A  FROLIC  AMONG  THE  LAWYERS.  145 

Sears  (for  he  was  a  good  mimic),  and  causing  him 
to  fall  in  the  mud.  Unluckily,  the  usher  heard  the 
racket  without,  and  not  dreaming  it  was  the  fall 
of  the  stairs,  he  leaped  from  his  bed,  and  hurried 
out  to  see  what  caused  it.  He  fell  on  them ;  and 
though  no  bones  were  broken,  he  was  laid  up  for 
several  weeks.  The  wind  always  had  the  credit  of 
this  affair,  and  Prettyman  won  great  applause  for 
his  speedy  assistance  and  sympathy  with  Dog- 
berry, whom  he  visited  constantly  during  his  con- 
finement. 

The  night  of  the  adjournment  of  court,  the 
lawyers,  and  even  the  judges,  had  what  they  called 
a  regular  frolic.  Mr.  Sears  was  in  Baltimore,  and 
the  scholars  were  easily  induced  to  join  in  it — in 
fact,  they  wanted  no  inducement.  About  twelve 
o'clock  at  night,  we  were  aroused  from  our  beds  by 
a  most  awful  yelling  for  the  ex-sheriff.  "Hall! 
Hall!"  was  the  cry.  Soon  the  door  was  opened, 
and  the  trampling  of  feet  was  heard ;  in  a  minute 
the  frolickers  ascended  the  stairs,  and  one  of  the 
judges,  with  a  blanket  wrapped  around  him  like 
an  Indian,  with  his  face  painted,  and  a  red  hand- 
kerchief tied  round  his  head,  and  with  red  slippers 
on,  entered  our  room,  with  a  candle  in  one  hand 
and  a  bottle  in  the  other  ;  and,  after  making  us 
drink  all  round,  bade  us  get  up.  We  were  nothing 
loath.  On  descending  into  the  dining-room,  lo ! 
there  were  the  whole  bar  dressed  off  in  the  most 
13 


146  A  FROLIC  AMONG  THE  LAWYERS. 

fantastic  style,  and  some  of  them  scarcely  dressed 
at  all.  They  were  mad  with  fun  and  wine.  The 
ex-sheriff  brought  forth  his  liquors,  and  was  placed 
on  his  own  table  a  culprit,  and  tried  and  found 
guilty  of  not  having  been,  as  in  duty  bound,  one 
of  the  originators  of  the  frolic.  He  was,  therefore, 
fined  glasses  round  for  the  company,  and  ordered 
by  the  judges  to  pay  it  at  Richardson's  bar.  To 
Richardson's  the  order  was  given  to  repair.  Ac- 
cordingly, they  formed  a  line  without,  Indian-file. 
Two  large  black  women  carried  a  light  in  each 
hand  beside  the  first  judge,  and  two  smaller  black 
women  carried  a  light  in  their  right  hands  beside 
the  next  one.  The  lawyers  followed,  each  with  a 
light  in  his  hand ;  and  the  procession  closed  with 
the  scholars,  who  each  also  bore  a  light.  I  being 
the  smallest,  brought  up  the  rear.  There  was 
neither  man  nor  boy  who  was  not  more  or  less  in- 
toxicated, and  the  wildest  pranks  were  played. 

When  we  reached  Dogberry's  domicil,  one  of  the 
boys  proposed  to  have  him  out  with  us.  The  ques- 
tion was  put  by  one  of  the  judges,  and  carried  by 
unanimous  acclamation.  It  was  farther  resolved, 
that  a  deputation  of  three,  each  bearing  a  bottle 
of  different  liquor,  should  be  appointed  to  wait  on 
him,  with  the  request  that  he  would  visit  the 
Pawnee  tribe,  from  the  far  West,  drink  some  fire- 
water with  them,  and  smoke  the  pipe  of  peace. 

Prettyman,  whose  recklessness  knew  no  bounds, 


A  FROLIC  AMONG  THE  LAWYERS.  147 

and  who,  as  I  suppose,  wished  to  involve  me  in  dif- 
ficulty, moved  that  the  smallest  and  largest  person 
in  the  council  be  of  that  deputation.  There  hap- 
pened to  be  by  Dogberry's  a  quantity  of  logs,  which 
had  been  gathered  there  for  the  purpose  of  build- 
ing a  log-house.  Mr.  Patterson  (I  use  here  a  ficti- 
tious name)  was  at  this  time  the  great  lawyer  of 
Maryland.  He  was  dressed  in  a  splendid  Indian 
costume,  which  a  western  client  had  given  him, 
and  he  had  painted  himself  with  care  and  taste. 
He  was  a  fine-looking  man,  and  stretching  out  his 
hand,  he  exclaimed: — 

"  Brothers,  be  seated  ;  but  not  on  the  prostrate 
forms  of  the  forest,  which  the  ruthless  white  man 
has  felled,  to  make  unto  himself  a  habitation.  Like 
the  big  warrior,  Tecumseh,  in  a  council  with  the 
great  white  chief,  Harrison,  we  will  sit  upon  the 
lap  of  our  mother,  the  earth ;  upon  her  breast  will 
we  sleep  ;  the  Pawnee  has  no  roof  but  the  blue 
sky,  where  dwelleth  the  Great  Spirit ;  and  he 
looks  up  to  the  shining  stars,  and  they  look  down 
upon  him  ;  and  they  count  the  leaves  of  the  forest, 
and  know  the  might  of  the  Pawnees." 

Every  one,  by  this  time,  had  taken  a  seat  upon 
the  ground,  and  all  were  silent.  As  the  lights 
flashed  over  the  group,  they  formed  as  grotesque  a 
scene  as  I  have  ever  witnessed. 

"  Brothers,"  he  continued,  "  those  eyes  of  the 
Great  Spirit" — pointing  upward  to  the  stars — "be- 


148  A  FROLIC  AMONG  THE  LAWYERS. 

hold  the  rushing  river,  and  they  say  to  our  fathers, 
who  are  in  the  happy  hunting-grounds  of  the  blest, 
that,  like  it,  is  the  might  of  the  Pawnee,  when  he 
rushes  to  battle.  The  white  men  are  dogs  ;  their 
carcasses  drift  in  the  tide  ;  they  are  cast  out  on 
the  shore,  and  the  prairie-wolf  fattens  on  them. 

"Brothers  !  the  eyes  of  the  Great  Spirit  behold 
the  prairies  and  the  forest,  where  the  breath  of  the 
wintry  wind  bears  the  red  fire  through  them  ; 
where  the  prairie-wolf  flies  and  the  fire  flies  faster. 
Brothers,  the  white  man  is  the  prairie-wolf,  and 
the  Pawnee  is  the  fire. 

"  Brothers  !  when  the  forked  fire  from  the  right 
arm  of  the  Great  Spirit  smites  the  mountain's 
brow,  the  eagle  soars  upward  to  his  home  in  the 
clouds,  but  the  snake  crawls  over  the  bare  rock  in 
the  blast,  and  hides  in  the  clefts,  and  hollows,  and 
holes.  Behold  !  the  forked  fire  strikes  the  rock 
and  scatters  it,  as  the  big  warrior  would  throw  peb- 
bles from  his  hand ;  and  the  soaring  eagle  darts 
from  the  clouds,  and  the  death-rattle  of  the  snake 
is  heard,  and  he  hisses  n©  more. 

"  Brothers  !  the  Pawnee  is  the  eagle,  the  bird  of 
the  Great  Spirit ;  and  the  white  man  is  the  crawl- 
ing snake  that  the  Great  Spirit  hates. 

"  Brothers !  the  shining  eyes  of  the  Great  Spirit 
see  all  these  things,  and  he  tells  them  to  our  fa- 
thers, who  are  in  the  happy  hunting-grounds  of  the 
blest;  and  they  say  that  some  day,  wrapped  in  the 


A  FROLIC  AMONG  THE  LAWYERS.  149 

clouds,  they  will  come  and  see  us,  for  our  land  is 
like  theirs." 

This  was  said  with  so  much  eloquence  by  the 
distinguished  lawyer,  that  there  was  a  silence  of 
nearly  a  minute  when  he  concluded.  In  the  com- 
pany was  a  lawyer  named  Short,  who,  strange  to 
say,  was  just  six  feet  three  inches  and  a  half  high, 
and  he  had  a  client,  which  is  stranger  still,  named 
Long,  who  was  but  five  feet  high. 

"  Who  has  precedence,  Judge  Williard?"  called 
out  some  one  in  the  crowd,  breaking  in  upon  the 
business  of  the  occasion,  as  upon  such  occasions 
business  always  will  be  broken  in  upon — "  Who 
has  precedence,  Long  or  Short  ?" 

"Long,"  exclaimed  the  Judge,  "  of  course.  It 
is  a  settled  rule  in  law,  that  you  must  take  as  much 
land  as  is  called  for  in  the  deed ;  therefore,  Long 
takes  precedence  of  Short.  Maybe,  Short  has  a 
remedy  in  equity ;  but  this  court  has  nothing  to  do 
with  that ;  so  you  have  the  long  and  the  short  of 
the  matter." 

"Judge,"  cried  out  the  ex-sheriff,  "  we  must  go 
to  Richardson's  ;  you  know  it  is  my  treat." 

"  The  Pawnee,  the  eagle  of  his  race,"  exclaimed 
Patterson  ;  "  the  prophet  of  his  tribe ;  he  who  is 
more  than  warrior  ;  whose  tongue  is  clothed  with 
the  Great  Spirit's  thunder  ;  who  can  speak  with 
the  eloquence  of  the  spring  air  when  it  whispers 
among  the  leaves,  and  makes  the  flowers  open  and 
13* 


150  A  FROLIC  AMONG  THE  LAWYERS. 

give  forth  their  sweets  ;  he,  the  Charming  Serpent, 
that  hath  a  tongue  forked  with  persuasion  ;  he, 
even  he,  will  go  in  unto  the  white  man,  and  invite 
him  to  come  forth  and  taste  the  fire-water,  and 
smoke  the  pipe  of  peace  with  the  Pawnee.  Then, 
if  he  come  not  forth  when  the  Charming  Serpent 
takes  him  by  the  hand  and  bids  him,  the  Pawnees 
shall  smoke  him  out  like  a  fox,  and  his  blazing 
habitation  shall  make  night  pale ;  and  there  shall 
be  no  resting-place  for  his  foot;  and  children  and 
squaws  shall  whip  him  into  the  forest,  and  set  dogs 
upon  his  trail ;  and  he  shall  be  hunted  from  hill  to 
hill,  from  river  to  river,  from  prairie  to  prairie, 
from  forest  to  forest,  till,  like  the  frightened  deer, 
he  rushes  panting  into  the  great  lakes,  and  the 
waters  rise  over  him,  and  cover  him  from  the  Paw- 
nee's scorn." 

This  was  received  with  acclamation.  Mr.  Pat- 
terson played  the  Indian  so  well,  that  he  drew  me 
one  of  the  closest  to  him  in  the  charmed  circle 
that  surrounded  him.  His  eye  flashed,  his  lips 
quivered  with  fiery  ardor,  though  but  in  a  mimic 
scene.  He  would  have  made  a  great  actor.  I  was 
so  lost  in  admiration  of  him,  that  I  placed  myself 
beside  him  without  knowing  it.  He  saw  the  effect 
he  had  produced  upon  me,  and  was  evidently 
gratified.     Taking  me  by  the  hand,  he  said  : — 

"  Warriors  and  braves,  give  unto  me  the  brand, 
that  the  Charming  Serpent  may  light  the  steps  of 


A  FROLIC  AMONG  THE  LAWYERS.  151 

the  boy  to  the  hiding-place  of  the  pale-face.  He 
shall  listen  to  the  eloquence  of  the  Charming  Ser- 
pent when  he  takes  the  white  man  by  the  hand — 
he  shall  learn  to  move  alike  the  heart  of  the  pale- 
face and  the  red  man." 

"  Brothers  :  the  Charming  Serpent  to-night," 
said  he,  handing  me  the  candle,  and  placing  him- 
self in  an  oratorical  attitude,  while  every  man  lifted 
his  candle  so  that  it  shone  full  upon  him — 
"  Brothers,  the  Charming  Serpent  to-night  could 
speak  unto  the  four  winds  that  are  now  howling  in 
the  desolate  Pawnee  paths  of  the  wilderness,  and 
make  them  sink  into  a  low  moan,  and  sigh  them- 
selves into  silence,  were  he  to  tell  them  of  the 
many  of  his  tribe  who  are  now  lying  mangled,  un- 
buried,  and  cold,  beneath  the  shadow  of  the  Rocky 
Mountains — victims  of  the  white  man's  treacherous 
cruelty. 

"  Brothers !  0  !  that  the  Great  Spirit  would 
give  the  Charming  Serpent  his  voice  of  thunder — 
then  would  he  stand  upon  the  highest  peak  of  the 
Alleghanies,  with  forked  lightning  in  his  red  right 
hand,  and  tell  a  listening  and  heart-struck  world 
the  wrongs  of  his  race.  And  when  all  of  every 
tribe  of  every  people  had  come  crouching  in  the 
valleys,  and  had  filled  up  the  gorges  of  the  hills, 
then  would  the  Charming  Serpent  hurl  vengeance 
on  the  oppressor.  But  come,"  said  he,  taking  the 
candle  in  one  hand  and  myself  in  the  other,  "  the 


152  A  FROLIC  AMONG  THE  LAWYERS. 

Pawnee  talks  like  a  squaw.  The  Charming  Ser- 
pent will  speak  with  the  pale-face,  and  lead  him 
forth  from   his  wigwam  to  the  great  council-fire." 


CHAPTER  II. 

Accordingly  the  Charming  Serpent,  holding  me 
by  the  hand,  led  me  up  the  stairs.  His  steps  were 
steady.  It  was  evident  that  his  libations  had  ex- 
cited his  brain,  and  instead  of  weakening  gave  him 
strength. 

"What's  your  name,"  said  he  to  me  kindly. 

"William  Russell,  Sir." 

"Do  you  know  me,  my  little  fellow  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  you're  Mr.  Patterson,  the  great 
lawyer." 

"  Ah,  ha  !  they  call  me  the  great  lawyer  !  What 
else  do  they  say  ?" 

"  That  you're  the  greatest  orator  in  the  coun- 
try," I  replied,  for  what  I  had  drank  made  me 
bold,  too. 

"  They  do — I  know  they  do,  my  little  fellow — 
I  believe,  in  fact,  that  I  could  have  stood  up  in  the 
Areopagus  of  old,  in  favor  of  human  rights,  and 
faced  the  best  of  them.  Yes,  sir,  I  too  could  have 
fulminated  over  Greece.  But  we  are  not  Grecians 
now — we  are  Pawnees." 


A  FROLIC  AMONG  THE  LAWYERS.  153 

"  Stop,  stop,  Mr.  Pawnee,"  called  out  some  one 
from  the  crowd;  "  Short  was  to  go,  he  is  the  tall- 
est man." 

"  The  tallest  man  I"  re-echoed  Patterson,  speak- 
ing in  his  natural  tone.  "  The  judge,  sir,  has 
already  decided  that  by  just  legal  construction 
Short  is  short,  no  matter  how  long  he  is,  and  if  he 
claims  to  be  long,  sir,  I  can  just  inform  him  that 
Lord  Bacon  says,  '  that  tall  men  are  like  tall 
houses,  the  upper  story  is  the  worst  furnished.'  " 
Here  every  eye  was  turned  on  Short,  and  there 
was  a  shout  of  laughter. 

"If,"  continued  Patterson,  and  it  was  evident 
his  potations  were  doing  their  work — "  if  it  be 
true,  I  will  just  say  to  you,  sir,  Dr.  Watts  was 
a  very  small  man,  and  he  said,  and  I  repeat  it,  of 
all  small  men — 

'  Had  I  the  height  to  reach  the  pole, 
Or  mete  the  ocean  with  my  span, 
I  would  be  measured  by  my  soul — 
The  mind's  the  standard  of  the  man/ 

"  There,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  if  that  be  true, 
I  opine  that  the  tallest  man  in  the  crowd  is  address- 
ing you.     But  I  forget,  I  am  a  Pawnee. 

"  Brothers :  the  tall  grass  is  swept  by  the  fire, 
while  the  flint  endureth  the  flames  of  the  stake. 
The  loftiest  trees  of  the  forest  snap  like  a  reed  in 
the  whirlwind,  and  the  bird  that  builds  there  leaves 


154  A  FROLIC  AMONG  THE  LAWYERS. 

her  eggs  unhatched.  The  highest  peak  of  the 
mountain  is  always  the  bleakest  and  barest ;  in  the 
valley  are  the  sweet  waters  and  pleasant  places. 
Gentlemen,"  said  he,  speaking  in  his  proper  per- 
son, for  he  began  to  forget  his  personation,  "  why 
do  we  value  the  gem — 

1  Ask  why  God  made  the  gem  so  small, 
And  why  so  huge  the  granite  ? 
Because  he  meant  mankind  should  set 
The  higher  value  on  it/ 

"  That's  Burns,  an  illustrious  name,  gentlemen. 
When  I  was  minister  abroad,  I  stood  beside  the 
peasant-poet's  grave,  and  thanked  God  that  he  had 
given  me  the  faculties  to  appreciate  him.  Suppose 
that  he  had  been  born  in  this  land  of  ours,  sirs, 
all  we  who  think  ourselves  lights  in  law  and  states- 
manship would  have  seen  our  stars  paled — paled, 
sirs,  as  the  fire  of  the  prairie  grows  dim  when 
the  eye  of  the  Great  Spirit  looks  forth  from  its 
eastern  gates — ba !  that's  Ossian,  and  not  Pawnee 
— upon  it  in  its  fierceness.    [ 

1  Thou  the  bright  eye  of  the  universe, 
That  openest  over  all,  and  unto  all 
Art  a  delight — thou  shinest  not  on  my  soul/ 

That's  Byron— I  knew  him  well — handsome  fellow. 
'  Thou  shinest  not  on  my  soul  '  —  no,  but  thou 
shinest  on  the  prairie." 


A  FROLIC  AMONG  THE  LAWYERS.  155 

"The  usher! — Dogberry — let's  have  Dogberry !" 
called  out  several  of  the  students. 

"  Ha  !  "  exclaimed  Patterson,  "  Dogberry  ! 
He's  Goldsmith's  village  teacher,  that  caused  the 
"wonder — 

1  That  one  small  head  could  carry  all  he  knew.' 

Dogberry  ! — Dogberry  ! — but  that  sounds  Shaks- 
pearian.  '  Eeading  and  writing  come  by  nature.' 
Those  certainly  are  not  his  sentiments,  I  mean  the 
defendant's  ;  were  they,  he  should  throw  away  the 
usher's  rod,  and  betake  himself  to  something  else ; 
for  if  these  things  come  by  nature,  then  is  Dog- 
berry's occupation  gone.  Yes,  he  had  better  betake 
himself  to  the  constableship — the  night  wratch. 
Come,  my  little  friend — come,  son  of  the  Pawnee, 
and  we  will  arouse  the  pale-face."  Obeying  Mr. 
Patterson,  we  ascended  to  the  little  platform  in 
front  of  Dogberry's  door,  at  which  he  rapped 
three  times  distinctly.  "  Who's  there  ?"  cried  out 
a  voice  from  within.  Dogberry  must  of  course 
have  been  awake  for  at  least  half  an  hour. 

"  Pale-face,"  said  the  Pawnee  chief,  "  thou 
hast  not  followed  the  example  of  the  great  chief 
of  the  pale- faces  ;  the  string  of  thy  latch  is  pulled 
in.  Upon  my  word,  this  is  certainly  the  attic 
story,"  he  continued  in  a  low  voice,  "  are  you  attic, 
too,  Dogberry  ?" 


156  A  FROLIC  AMONG  THE  LAWYERS. 

"No,  sir,  I  am  rheumatic.  Gentlemen,  unless 
your  business  be  pressing — " 

"  Pressing  !  Pale-face,  the  Pawnees  have  light- 
ed their  council-fire,  and  invite  thee  to  drink  with 
them  the  fire-water,  and  smoke  the  pipe  of  peace." 

"Thank  you,  gentlemen,  I  never  drink,"  re- 
sponded Dogberry,  in  an  impatient  tone. 

"  Never  drink  !  Pale-face,  thou  liest !  Who 
made  the  fire-water,  and  gave  it  to  my  people,  but 
thee  and  thine  ?  Lo  !  before  it,  though  they  once 
covered  the  land,  they  have  melted  away  like  snow 
beneath  the  sun." 

"  I  belong  to  the  temperance  society,"  cried  out 
Dogberry  from  within. 

"Dogberry,"  exclaimed  Patterson,  whose  pa- 
tience like  that  of  the  crowd  below,  who  were  call- 
ing for  the  usher  as  if  they  were  at  a  town  meet- 
ing, and  expected  him  to  speak,  was  becoming 
exhausted ;  "  Dogberry,  compel  me  not,  as  your 
great  namesake  would  say,  to  commit  either  '  per- 
jury' or  'burglary,'  and  break  the  door  open.  You 
remember  in  '  Marmion,'  Dogberry,  that  the  chief, 
speaking  of  the  insult  that  had  been  put  to  him, 
said: — 

'  I'll  right  such  wrongs  where'er  they're  given, 
Though  in  the  very  court  of  heaven/ 

Now  I  will  not  say  that  I  would  make  you  drink 
wherever  the  old  chief  would  '  right  his  wrongs/ 


A  FROLIC  AMONG  THE  LAWYERS.  157 

but  this  I  will  say,  that  whenever  I,  Burbage  Pat- 
terson, get  drunk,  I  think  you  can  come  forth  and 
take  a  stirrup-cup  with  him ;  he  leaves  for  the 
Supreme  Court  to-morrow,  to  encounter  the  giant 
of  the  North." 

"Mr.  Patterson,"  said  Dogberry,  coming  to- 
wards the  door,  "  your  character  can  stand  it;  it 
can  stand  anything  ;  mine  can't." 

"  There's  truth  in  that,''  said  Mr.  Patterson 
aside  to  me. 

"  Gentlemen,  let  us  leave  the  pedagogue  to  his 
reflection  ;  and  now  it  occurs  to  me  tha4;  we  had 
better  not  uncage  him,  for,  boys,  he  would  be  a  wit- 
ness against  you  ;  more,  witness,  judge,  jury,  and 
executioner ;  by  the  by,  clear  against  law.  Were 
I  in  your  place  I  would  appeal,  and  for  every  stripe 
he  gives  you,  should  the  judgment  be  reversed,  do 
you  give  him  two." 

Here  a  sprightly  fellow,  one  of  the  scholars 
named  Morris,  from  Long  Green,  ran  up  the  steps 
and  said  to  Mr.  Patterson  : — 

"  Do,  sir,  have  him  out ;  for  if  we  get  him  into 
the  frolic  too,  we  are  as  safe,  sir,  as  if  we  were  all 
in  our  beds.  He  has  seen  us  all  through  some  in- 
fernal crack  or  other." 

"  Ah  !"   exclaimed  Patterson,  in  a  low  tone  to 
Morris,  "  he  has   been   playing  Cowper,  has  he ; 
looking  from  the  loop-holes  of  retreat,  seeing  the 
Babel  and  not  feeling  the  stir  ?" 
14 


158  A  FROLIC  AMONG  THE  LAWYERS. 

"  Yes,  sir,  but  he'll  make  a  stir  about  it  to-mor- 
row." 

"  He  shall  come  forth,  then,"  said  Mr.  Patter- 
son ;  "  Dogberry,  open  the  door  ;  they  speak  of 
removing  Sears,  and  why  don't  you  come  forth 
and  greet  your  friends  ?  We  have  an  idea  of  get- 
ting the  appointment  for  you." 

This  flattery  took  instant  effect;  for  we  heard 
Dogberry  bustling  to  the  door,  and  in  a  moment  it 
was  opened  about  half-way,  and  the  usher  put  his 
head  out,  and  said,  but  with  an  evident  wish  that 
his  invitation  should  be  refused,  "  Will  you  come 
in,  sir  ?  Why,  William  Russell  !"  to  me  in  sur- 
prise. 

"  Pale- face,  this  is  a  youthful  brave,  to  whom  I 
want  the  pale-face  to  teach  the  arts  of  his  race. 
Behold !  I  am  the  Charming  Serpent.  Come  forth 
and  taste  of  the  fire-water." 

As  Mr.  Patterson  spoke,  he  took  Dogberry  by 
the  hand  and  pulled  him  on  the  platform.  The 
usher  was  greeted  by  loud  acclamations  and 
laughter.  He,  however,  did  not  relish  it,  and  was 
frightened  out  of  his  wits.  He  really  looked  the 
personification  of  a  caricature.  His  head  was 
covered  with  an  old  flannel  nightcap,  notwith- 
standing it  was  warm  weather,  and  his  trowsers 
were  held  up  by  his  hips,  while  his  suspenders 
dangled  about  his  knees.  On  his  right  leg  he  had 
an  old  boot,  and  on  his  left  foot  an  old  shoe ;  he 


A  FROLIC  AMONG  THE  LAWYERS.  159 

was  without  coat  or  vest.  As  Mr.  Patterson  held 
up  the  light,  so  that  the  crowd  below  could  see  him, 
there  was  such  a  yelling  as  had  not  been  heard  on 
the  spot  since  those  whose  characters  the  crowd 
were  assuming  had  left  it. 

Dogberry  hastily  withdrew  into  his  room,  but 
followed  by  Mr.  Patterson  and  myself,  each  bear- 
ing a  light.  When  we  entered,  the  crowd  rushed 
up  the  steps. 

"  For  God's  sake,  sir,  for  the  sake  of  my  cha- 
racter and  situation,  don't  let  them  come  in 
here." 

"  They  shall  not,  if  you  will  promise  to  drink 
with  me.  Pale-face,  speak,  will  you  drink  with 
the  Pawnee  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"   said  Dogberry,  faintly. 

The  Charming  Serpent  here  went  to  the  door, 
and  said — 

"  Brothers,  the  Charming  Serpent  would  hold  a 
private  talk  with  the  chief  of  the  pale-faces.  Ere 
long,  he  will  be  with  you.  Let  the  Big  Bull  (one 
of  the  lawyers  was  named  Bull,  and  he  was  very 
humorous)  pass  round  the  fire-water  and  the 
calumet,  and  by  that  time  the  Charming  Serpent 
will  come  forth.  Brothers,  give  unto  the  Charming 
Serpent  some  of  the  fire-water,  that  he  may  work 
his  spells." 

A  dozen  handed  up  bottles  of  different  wines 
and  liquors.     The  Charming  Serpent  gave  Dog- 


160  A  FROLIC  AMONG  THE  LAWYERS. 

berry  the  candles  to  hold,  took  a  bottle  of  Cham- 
pagne, and  handed  me  another.  Then  shutting  the 
door  he  said,  "  This  is  the  fire-water  that  hath  no 
evil  in  it.  It  courses  through  the  veins  like  a 
silvery  lake  through  the  prairie,  where  the  wild 
grass  waves  green  and  glorious,  and  it  makes  the 
heart  merry  like  the  merriment  of  birds  in  spring- 
time, and  not  with  the  fierce  fires  of  the  dark  lake, 
like  the  strong  fire-water,  that  glows  red  as  the 
living  coal.     Brothers,  we  will  drink." 

Dogberry's  apartment  was  indeed  an  humble 
one.  Only  in  the  centre  of  it  could  you  stand  up- 
right. Over  our  heads  were  the  rafters  and  bare 
shingles,  formed  exactly  in  the  shape  of  the  capital 
letter  V  inverted.  Opposite  the  door  was  a  little 
window  of  four  panes  of  glass,  and  under  it,  or 
rather  beside  it,  in  the  corner,  was  a  little  bed- 
stead, with  a  straw  mattress  upon  it.  A  small 
table,  with  a  tumbler  and  broken  pitcher,  and  a 
candle  in  a  tin  candlestick,  stood  opposite  the  bed. 
A  board  nailed  across  from  rafter  to  rafter,  held 
a  few  books,  and  beside  it,  on  nails,  were  a  few  arti- 
cles of  clothing.  There  were  besides  in  the  apart- 
ment two  chairs,  and  a  wooden  chest  in  the  corner 
by  the  door. 

"  Come,  drink,  my  old  boy,"  exclaimed  Pat- 
terson. 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Patterson;  your  character  can 
stand  it,  I  tell  you,  but  mine  can't." 


A  FROLIC  AMONG  THE  LAWYERS.  161 

"Friend  of  my  soul,  this  goblet  sip,"  reiterated 
Patterson,  offering  Dogberry  the  glass. 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Patterson,  I  would  not  choose 
any,"  said  he. 

"You  can't  but  choose,  Dogberry  ;  there  is  no 
alternative.  Do  you  remember  what  the  poet  beau- 
tifully says  of  the  Roman  daughter,  who  sustained 
her  imprisoned  father  from  her  own  breast  ? 

'  Drink,  drink  and  live,  old  man  ; 
Heaven's  realm  holds  no  such  tide/ 

Do  you  remember  it  ?  I  bid  you  drink,  then  ;  and 
I  say  to  you  Hebe  or  Ganymede  never  offered  to 
the  immortals  purer  wine  than  that ;  I  imported  it 
for  my  own  use.  Drink  ;  here's  to  you,  Dogberry, 
and  to  your  speedy  promotion;"  and  Mr.  Patterson 
swallowed  every  drop  in  the  glass,  and  refilling  it 
handed  it  to  the  usher. 

"  How  do  you  like  the  letter,  Mr.  Dogberry  ?" 
asked  Patterson  of  the  pedagogue. 

"  What  letter,  sir  ?  I  must  say  this  is  a  strange 
proceeding ;  I  don't  know,  sir,  to  what  you 
allude." 

"  Don't  know  to  what  I  allude  !  Why  the  letter 
wishing  to  know  if  you  would  take  the  academy 
at  the  same  price  at  which  Sears  now  holds  it." 

"  Sir,  I  have  no  such  letter.  I  certainly  would, 
sir,  if  it  was  thought  that  I  was — " 

"  Was  competent.  Merit  is  always  modest ; 
14* 


162  A  FROLIC  AMONG  THE  LAWYERS. 

you're  the  most  competent  of  the  two,  sir — take 
some." 

So  saying,  Mr.  Patterson  filled  up  the  tumbler, 
and  Dogberry  swallowed  the  wine  and  the  compli- 
ment together,  and  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  rafters 
with  an  exulting  look. 

While  he  was  so  gazing,  the  lawyer  filled  his 
glass,  and  observed,  "  Come,  drink,  and  let  me 
open  this  other  bottle  ;  I  want  a  glass  myself." 
Down  went  the  wine,  and,  with  a  smack  of  his  lips, 
Dogberry  handed  the  glass  to  Mr.  Patterson. 

"  Capital,  ain't  it,  eh  ?" 

"  Capital,"  re-echoed  Dogberry.  The  wine  and 
his  supposed  honors  had  roused  the  brain  of  the 
pedagogue  in  a  manner  which  seemed  to  awake 
him  to  a  new  existence. 

While  Mr.  Patterson  was  striking  the  top  from 
the  other  bottle,  Dogberry  handed  me  the  candle 
wThich  he  held,  the  other  he  had  put  in  his  candle- 
stick, taking  out  his  own  candle,  when  he  first 
drank,  and  lifting  the  tumbler  he  stood  ready. 
Again  he  quaffed  a  bumper.  The  effect  of  these 
potations  on  him  was  electrical.  He  had  a  long 
face,  with  a  snipe-like  nose,  which  was  subject  to 
a  nervous  twitching,  whenever  its  owner  was  ex- 
cited. It  now  danced  about  seemingly,  all  over 
his  face,  while  his  naturally  cadaverous  counte- 
nance, under  the  excitement  turned  to  a  glowing 
red,  and  his  small  ferret  eyes  looked  both  dignified 


A  FROLIC  AMONG  THE  LAWYERS.  163 

and  dancing,  merry  and  important.  "  So,"  he 
exclaimed,  "  I  am  to  be  principal  of  the  academy  ; 
ha-ha-ha  !  0  Lord !  William  Russell,  I  would  re- 
prove you  on  the  spot,  but  that  you  are  in  such 
distinguished  company." 

Whether  Dogberry  meant  only  Mr.  Patterson 
or  included  himself,  I  do  not  know  ;  but  as  he  spoke 
he  arose,  and  paced  his  apartment  with  a  proud 
tread,  forgetting  what  a  figure  he  cut,  with  his 
suspenders  dangling  about  his  knees,  and  his  night- 
cap on,  and  forgetting,  also,  that  his  attic  was  not 
high  enough  to  admit  his  head  to  be  carried  at  its 
present  altitude.  The  consequence  was  that  he 
struck  it  against  one  of  the  rafters,  with  a  violence 
which  threatened  injury  to  the  rafter,  if  not  to  the 
head.  He  stooped  down  and  rubbed  the  injured 
part,  when  Mr.  Patterson  said  to  him,  "  'Pro-di- 
gi-ous,'  as  Dominie  Sampson,  one  of  you,  said, 
ain't  it  ?  Hang  Franklin's  notion  about  stooping 
in  this  world.  Come,  we'll  finish  this  bottle  and 
then  go  forth.  The  scholars  are  all  rejoiced  at 
your  promotion,  and  are  all  assembled  without  to 
do  you  honor.  They  have  made  a  complete  sa- 
turnalia of  it.  They  marvel  why  you  treat  them 
with  so  much  reserve." 

"  Gad,  I'll  do  it,"  exclaimed  Dogberry,  taking 
the  tumbler  and  swallowing  the  contents. 

"  Just  put  your  blanket  around  you,"  said  Pat- 


164  A  FROLIC  AMONG  THE  LAWYERS. 

terson  to  him,  "  and  let  your  nightcap  remain  ;  it 
becomes  you." 

"  No,  it  don't  indeed,  eli  ?" 

"It  does  'pon  honor.  That's  it.  Now,  pale- 
face, come  forth ;  the  eloquence  of  the  Charming 
Serpent  has  prevailed." 

So  speaking,  Mr.  Patterson  opened  the  door, 
and  we  stepped  upon  the  platform. 

The  scene  without  was  grotesque  in  the  extreme. 
In  front  of  us,  I  suppose  to  the  number  of  a  hun- 
dred persons,  were  the  frolickers,  composed  of 
lawyers,  students,  and  town's  people,  all  seated  in 
a  circle ;  while  Mr.  Patterson's  client  from  the 
West,  dressed  in  costume,  was  giving  the  Pawnee 
war-dance.  This  client  was  a  rough  uneducated 
man,  but  full  of  originality,  and  whim.  Mr.  Pat- 
terson had  gained  a  suit  for  him,  in  which  the 
title  to  an  estate  in  the  neighborhood  was  involved, 
worth  sixty  thousand  dollars.  The  whole  bar 
believed  that  the  suit  could  not  be  sustained  by 
Patterson,  but  his  luminous  mind  had  detected  the 
clue  through  the  labyrinths  of  litigation,  where 
they  saw  nothing  but  confusion  and  defeat.  His 
client  was  overjoyed  at  the  result,  as  every  one 
had  croaked  defeat  to  him.  He  gave  Mr.  Patter- 
son fifteen  thousand  dollars,  five  more  than  he  had 
promised,  and  had  made  him  a  present  of  the 
splendid  Indian  dress,  in  which,  as  a  bit  of  fun, 
before  the  frolic  commenced,  he  had  decked   him- 


A  FROLIC  AMONG  THE  LAWYERS.  165 

self,  under  the  supervision  of  his  client,  who  acted 
as  his  costumer,  and  afterwards  dressed  himself  in 
the  same  way.  The  client  had  a  great  many 
Indian  dresses,  which  he  had  selected  with  a  great 
deal  of  care,  and  on  this  occasion  he  had  thrown 
open  his  trunks,  and  supplied  nearly  the  whole 
bar. 

The  name  of  Mr.  Patterson's  client  was  Black- 
wood, and  the  admiration  which  he  excited  seemed 
to  give  him  no  little  pleasure.  Most  of  the 
lawyers  in  the  circle  had  something  Indian  on 
them,  while  the  boys,  who  could  not  appear  in 
costume,  and  were  determined  to  appear  wild,  had 
turned  their  jackets  wrong  side  out,  and  swopped 
with  each  other,  the  big  ones  with  the  little,  so 
that  one  wore  his  neighbor's  jacket,  the  waist  of 
which  came  up  under  his  arms,  and  exhibited  the 
back  of  the  vest,  while  the  other  wore  a  coat,  the 
hip  buttons  of  which  were  at  his  knees. 

On  the  outskirts  of  the  assembly  could  be  seen, 
here  and  there,  a  negro,  who  might  be  said  at  once 
to  contribute  to  the  darkness  that  surrounded  the 
scene,  and  to  reflect  light  upon  it ;  for  their  black 
skins  were  as  ebon  as  night,  while  their  broad 
grins  certainly  had  something  luminous  about 
them,  as  their  white  teeth  shone  forth. 

We  stood  about  a  minute  admiring  the  dance  ; 
when  it  was  concluded,  some  one  spied  us,  and 
pointed  us  out  to  the  rest.    We,  or  rather,  I  should 


166  A  FROLIC  AMONG  THE  LAWYERS. 

say,  Dogberry  was  greeted  with  three  times  three. 
I  have  never  seen,  for  the  size  of  the  assembly, 
such  an  uproarious  outbreak  of  bacchanalian  mer- 
riment. After  the  cheers  were  given,  many  of  the 
boys  threw  themselves  on  the  grass  and  rolled  over 
and  over,  shouting  as  they  rolled.  Others  jerked 
their  fellow's  hats  off  and  threw  them  in  the  air. 
Pretty  man  stood  with  his  arms  folded,  as  if  he  did 
not  know  what  to  make  of  it,  and  then,  deliberately 
spreading  his  blanket  on  the  ground,  he  took  a 
seat  in  the  centre  of  it,  and,  like  an  amateur  at 
play,  enjoyed  the  scene.  Morris  held  his  sides, 
stooped  down  his  head,  and  glancing  sideways 
cunningly  at  Dogberry,  threw  himself  back  every 
now  and  then,  with  a  sudden  jerk,  while  loud  ex- 
plosive bursts  of  laughter,  from  his  very  heart, 
echoed  through  the  village  above  every  other 
sound. 

"  A  speech  from  Dogberry,"  exclaimed  Pretty- 
man. 

"Ay,  a  speech  !"  shouted  Morris,  "  a  speech  !" 

"No,  gentlemen,  not  now,"  exclaimed  Richard- 
son, the  proprietor  of  one  of  the  hotels  ;  "I  sent 
down  to  my  house  an  hour  ago,  and  have  had  a 
collation  served.  Mr.  Patterson,  and  gentlemen, 
and  students  all,  I  invite  you  to  partake  with 
me." 

"  Silence  !''  called  out  Mr.  Patterson.  All  were 
silent.     "  Students  of  the  Bel- Air  Academy,  and 


A  FEOLIC  AMONG  THE  LAWYERS.  167 

citizens  generally,  I  have  the  honor  to  announce  to 
you,  that  my  friend,  Mr.  Dogberry,  is  about  to  su- 
persede Mr.  Sears.  We  must  form  a  procession 
and  place  him  in  our  midst,  the  post  of  honor,  and 
then  to  mine  host's."  So  speaking,  Mr.  Patterson 
descended,  followed  by  Dogberry  and  myself.  The 
students  gave  their  candles  to  the  negroes  to  hold, 
joined  hands,  and  danced  round  Dogberry  with  the 
wildest  glee,  while  he  received  it  all  in  drunken 
dignity. 

When  I  have  seen  since  in  Chapman's  floating 
theatre,  or  in  a  barn  or  shed,  in  the  far  West,  some 
lubberly,  drunken  son  of  the  sock  and  buskin  enact 
Macbeth,  with  the  witches  about  him,  I  have  re- 
called this  scene,  and  thought  that  the  boys  looked 
like  the  witches,  and  Dogberry  like  the  Thane, 
when  the  witches  greet  him — 

"All  hail,  Macbeth,  that  shall  be  king  hereafter  !" 

The  procession  was  at  length  formed.  Sur- 
rounded by  the  boys,  who  rent  the  air  with  shouts, 
with  his  nightcap  on  his  head  and  his  blanket 
around  him,  with  one  boot  and  one  shoe,  Dogberry, 
following  immediately  after  the  judges,  proceeded 
with  them  to  Richardson's  hotel.  Whenever  there 
was  a  silence  of  a  minute  or  two,  some  boy  or  other 
would  ask  Dogberry  not  to  remember  on  the  mor- 
row that  he  saw  them  out  that  night. 

"  No,  boys,  no,  certainly  not;  this  thing,  I  un- 


168  A  FROLIC  AMONG  TUB  LAWYERS. 

derstand,  is  done  in  honor  of  me.  I  shan't  take 
Sears  in,  even  as  an  assistant.  Boys,  he  has  not 
used  me  well." 

We  arrived  at  Richardson's  as  well  as  we  could, 
having  business  on  both  sides  of  the  street.  His 
dining-room  was  a  very  large  one,  and  he  had  a 
very  fine  collation  set  out,  with  plenty  of  wines 
and  other  liquors.  Judge  Willard  took  the  head 
of  the  table,  and  Judge  Noland  the  foot.  Dog- 
berry was  to  the  right  of  Judge  Willard,  and  Mr. 
Patterson  to  the  left.  He  made  me  sit  beside  him. 
The  eating  was  soon  dispatched,  and  it  silenced  us 
all  a  little,  while  it  laid  the  groundwork  for  stand- 
ing another  supply  of  wine,  which  was  soon  spark- 
ling in  our  glasses,  and  we  were  now  all  more  ex- 
cited than  ever.  It  was  amusing  to  see  the  merry 
faces  of  my  schoolmates  twinkling  about  among 
the  crowd,  trying  to  catch  and  comprehend  what- 
ever was  said  by  the  lawyers,  particularly  those 
that  were  distinguished. 

Songs  were  sung,  sentiments  given,  and  Indian 
talks  held  by  the  quantity.  Dogberry  looked  the 
while  first  at  the  boys,  then  at  the  lawyers,  and 
then  at  himself,  not  knowing  whether  the  scene 
before  him  was  a  reality  or  a  dream.  The  great 
respect  which  the  boys  showed  him,  and  Patterson 
making  an  occasional  remark  to  him,  seemed  at 
least,  not  only  fully  to  impress  him  with  the  reality, 
but  also  with  a  full,  if  not  a  sober  conviction  of  his 
own  importance. 


A  FROLIC  AMONG  THE  LAWYERS.  169 

"A  song  !  a  song  !"  was  shouted  by  a  dozen  of 
the  larger  students;  "  a  song  from  Morris.  Give 
us  '  Down  with  the  pedagogue  Sears.'  Hurrah 
for  old  Dogberry  !     Dogberry  forever  !" 

"No,"  cried  out  others,  "a  speech  from  Mr. 
Patterson — no,  from  the  Pawnee.  You're  finable 
for  not  speaking  in  character." 

Here  Prettyman  took  Mr.  Patterson  courteously 
by  the  hand,  and  said  something  to  him  in  a 
whisper. 

"Ah,  ha!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Patterson,  "  so  it 
shall  be  ;  I  like  Morris.  Come,  my  good  fellow, 
sing  us  the  song  you  wrote;  come,  Dogberry's  star 
is  now  in  the  ascendant.  '  Down  with  the  peda- 
gogue Sears' — let's  have  it." 

Nothing  loth,  Morris  was  placed  on  the  table, 
while  the  students  gathered  round  him,  ready  to 
join  in  the  chorus.  Taking  a  preparatory  glass  of 
wine,  while  Mr.  Patterson  rapped  on  the  table,  by 
way  of  commanding  silence,  Morris  placed  himself 
in  an  attitude  and  sang  the  following,  which  he 
had  written  on  some  rebellious  occasion  or  other  : — 

SONG. 

You  may  talk  of  the  sway  of  imperial  power, 

And  tell  how  its  subjects  must  fawn,  cringe,  and  cower, 

And  offer  the  incense  of  tears  ; 
But  I  tell  you  at  once  that  there's  none  can  compare 
15 


170  A  FROLIC  AMONG  THE  LAWYERS. 

With  the  tyrant  that  rules  o'er  the  lads  of  Bel-Air; 
So  down  with  the  pedagogue  Sears. 

Chorus — Down,  down, 
So  down  with  the  pedagogue  Sears. 
Down,  down,  &c. 

The  serf  has  his  Sunday:  the  negroes  tell  o'er 

Their  Christmas,  the  Fourth,  ay,  and  many  days  more, 

When  they  feel  themselves  fully  our  peers  ; 
But  we're  tasked  night  and  day  by  the  line  and  the  rule, 
And  Sunday's  no  Sunday  for  there's  Sunday-school ; 
So  down  with  the  pedagogue  Sears. 

Down,  down, 
So  down  with  the  pedagogue  Sears. 

So  here's  to  the  lad  who  can  talk  to  his  lass, 

And  here's  to  the  lad  who  can  take  down  his  glass, 

And  is  only  a  lad  in  his  years : 
Who  can  stand  up  and  act  a  bold  part  like  a  man, 
And  do  just  whatever  another  man  can; 
So  down  with  the  pedagogue  Sears. 

Down,  down, 
So  down  with  the  pedagogue  Sears. 
Down,  down,  &c. 

"  Hip,  hip,  hurrah— once  more,"  shouted  Mor- 
ris.    "Now  then — " 

While  the  whole  room  was  in  uproarious  chorus- 
sing,  who  should  enter  but  Sears  himself.  He 
looked  round  with  stern  dignity  and  surprise,  at 
first  uncertain  on  whom  to  fix  his  indignation,  when 
his  eye  lit  on  Dogberry,  who,  the  most  elated  and 
inebriated  of  all,  was  flourishing  his  nightcap  over 
his  head,  and  shouting  at  the  top  of  his  voice, 

"  Down  with  the  pedagogue  Sears." 


A  FROLIC  AMONG  THE  LAWYERS.  171 

As  soon  as  Sears  caught  a  view  of  Dogberry,  he 
advanced  towards  him,  as  if  determined  to  inflict 
personal  chastisement  on  the  usher.  At  first,  Dog- 
berry again  prepared  to  vociferate  the  chorus,  but 
when  he  met  the  eye  of  Sears  his  voice  failed  him, 
and  he  moved  hastily  towards  Mr.  Patterson,  who 
slapped  him  on  the  shoulders  and  cried  out, 

"Dogberry,  be  true  to  yourself." 

"  I  am  true  to  myself.  Yes,  my  old  boy,  old 
Sears,  you're  no  longer  head  devil  at  Bel-Air 
Academy.  You're  no  devil  at  all  ;  or  if  you  are, 
old  boy,  you're  a  poor  devil,  and  be  hanged  to 

you?" 

"Yrou're  a  drunken  outcast,  sir,"  exclaimed 
Sears.  " Never  let  me  see  your  face  again;  I 
dismiss  you  from  my  service,  from  Bel-Air  Aca- 
demy;"  and  so  speaking  he  took  a  note-book  from 
his  pocket,  and  began  hastily  to  take  down  the 
names  of  the  students.  The  Big  Bull  saw  this,  and 
caught  it  from  his  hand. 

"Sir,  sir,"  exclaimed  Sears, enraged,  "My  voca- 
tion, and  not  any  respect  I  bear  you,  prevents  my 
infliction  of  personal  chastisement  upon  you.  Boys, 
young  gentlemen,  leave  instantly  for  your  respec- 
tive boarding-houses." 

During  this,  Patterson  was  clapping  Dogberry 
on  the  shoulder,  evidently  to  inspire  him  with 
courage. 

"  Tell  him  yourself,"  I  overheard  Dogberry  say. 


172  A  FROLIC  AMONG  THE  LAWYERS. 

"No,  no,"  replied  Patterson,  "it's  your  place." 

"  Well,  then,  I'll  tell  you  at  once;  Sears,  you're 
no  longer  principal  of  this  academy;  you're  dished. 
Mr.  Patterson,  sir,  will  tell  you  so." 

"Mr.  Patterson  !"  exclaimed  Sears,  for  the  first 
time  recognizing  in  the  semblance  of  the  Indian 
chief  the  distinguished  lawyer  and  statesman. 
"  Sir,  I  am  more  than  astonished." 

"Sir,"  rejoined  Patterson,  drawing  himself  up 
with  dignity,  "lam  a  Pawnee  brave;  more,  a  red- 
man  eloquent,  or  a  pale-face  eloquent,  as  it  pleases 
me ;  but,  sir,  under  all  circumstances,  I  respect 
your  craft  and  calling.  What  more  dignified  than 
such  ?  A  poor,  unfriended  boy,  I  was  taken  by 
the  hand  by  an  humble  teacher  of  a  country  school, 
and  here  I  stand,  let  me  say,  sir,  high  in  the  coun- 
cils of  a  great  people,  a  leader  among  leaders  in 
the  senate  hall  of  nations  ;  and  I  owe  it  to  him. 
Peace  to  old  Playfair's  ashes.  The  old  philosopher, 
like  Porson,  loved  his  cups,  and  like  Parr,  loved  his 
pipe;  but,  sir,  he  was  a  ripe  scholar,  and  a  noble 
spirit ;  and  I  have  so  said,  sir,  in  the  humble  monu- 
ment which  I  am  proud,  sir,  I  was  enabled,  through 
the  education  he  gave  me,  to  build  over  him — 

'After  life's  fitful  fever,  he  sleeps  well.' 

Yes,  as  some  one  says,  he  was  '  my  friend  before 
I  had  flatterers.'  How  proud  he  was  of  me.  I 
remember  well  catching  his  eye  in  making  my  first 


A  FROLIC  AMONG  THE  LAWYERS.  173 

speech,  and  the  approving  nod  he  gave  me  had 
more  gratification  to  me  than  the  approbation  of 
bench,  bar,  and  audience.  Glorious  old  Playfair  ! 
Mr.  Sears,  you  were  his  pupil  too.  Many  a  time 
have  I  heard  him  speak  of  you  ;  he  said,  of  all  his 
pupils  you  were  the  one  to  wear  his  mantle.  And 
sir,  that  was  the  highest  compliment  he  could  pay 
you — the  highest,  Mr.  Speaker,  for  he  esteemed 
himself  of  the  class  of  the  philosophers,  the  teachers 
of  youth.  Sir,  Mr.  Sears,  I  propose  to  you  that, 
in  testimony  of  our  life-long  respect  for  him,  we 
drink  to  his  memory." 

This  was  said  so  eloquently,  and  withal  so  na- 
turally, that  Sears,  forgetful  of  his  whereabouts, 
took  the  glass  which  Mr.  Patterson  offered  him, 
and  drank  its  contents  reverently  to  the  memory 
of  his  old  teacher. 

"  Sir,"  resumed  Patterson,  "  how  glorious  is 
your  vocation  !  But,  tell  me,  do  you  subscribe  to 
the  sentiments  of  Don  Juan  ? 

"  •  0,  ye  !  who  teach  the  ingenuous  youth  of  nations — 
Holland,  France,  England,  Germany,  or  Spain, 
I  pray  ye,  flog  them  upon  all  occasions — 
It  mends  their  morals — never  mind  the  pain.'  M 

The  appropriate  quotation  caused  a  thrill  to  run 
through  the  assembled  students,  while   they  cast 
ominous  looks  at  each  other.    For  the  life  of  him, 
Sears  could  not  resist  a  smile. 
15* 


174  A  FROLIC  AMONG  THE  LAWYERS. 

At  this,  Mr.  Patterson  glanced  at  us  with  a 
quiet  meaning,  and  turning  to  Mr.  Sears,  he  con- 
tinued:  "The  elder  Adams  taught  school  —  he 
whose  eloquence  Jefferson  has  so  loudly  lauded — 
the  man  who  was  for  liberty  or  death,  and  so  ex- 
pressed himself  in  that  beautiful  letter  to  his  wife. 
Do  you  not  remember  that  passage,  sir,  where  he 
speaks  of  the  Fourth  being  greeted  thereafter  with 
bonfires  and  illuminations  ?  His  son,  Johnny  Q., 
taught  school.  My  dark-eyed  friend  Webster, 
who  is  now  figuring  so  gloriously  in  the  halls  of 
Congress,  and  in  the  Supreme  Court,  and  whom  I 
meet  to-morrow,  taught  school.  Judge  Rowan,  of 
Kentucky,  a  master-spirit  too,  taught  school.  Who 
was  that 

"  '  Who  passed  the  flaming  bounds  of  time  and  space 
The  living  throne,  the  sapphire  blaze, 
Where  angels  tremble  as  they  gaze ; 
Who  saw,  but,  blasted  with  excess  of  light, 
Closed  his  eyes  in  endless  night — ' 

Who  was  he  ? — Milton,  the  glorious,  the  sublime; 
who,  in  his  aspirations  for  human  liberty,  prayed 
to  the  great  Spirit,  who,  as  he  himself  says,  sends 
forth  the  fire  from  his  altar,  to  touch  and  purify 
the  lips  of  whom  he  pleaseth.  Milton,  the  school- 
master. 

"  'If,  fallen  in  evil  days  on  evil  tongues, 
Milton  appealed  to  the  avenger,  Time  : 
If  Time,  the  avenger,  execrates  his  wrongs, 

And  makes  the  word  '  Miltonic'  mean  '  sublime/ 


A  FROLIC  AMONG  THE  LAWYERS.  175 

"  '  He  deigned  not  to  belie  his  soul  in  songs, 
Nor  turn  his  very  talent  to  a  crime ; 
He  did  not  loathe  the  sire  to  laud  the  son, 
But  closed  the  tyrant-hater  he  begun. 

"  '  Think'st  thou,  could  he — the  blind  old  man — arise 
Like  Samuel,  from  the  grave,  to  freeze  once  more 
The  blood  of  monarchs  with  his  prophecies, 
Or  be  alive  again — again  all  hoar, 
With  time,  and  trials,  and  those  helpless  eyes 
And  heartless  daughters,  worn,  and  pale,  and  poor' — 

"  Would  he  not  be  proud  of  his  vocation,  when  he 
reflected  how  many  great  spirits  had  followed  his 
example  ?  The  schoolmaster  is  indeed  abroad. 
Mr.  Sears,  let  us  drink  the  health  of  the  blind  old 
man  eloquent." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Patterson,  thank  you  ;  but 
before  my  scholars,  under  the  circumstances,  it 
would  be  setting  a  bad  example,  when  existing  cir- 
cumstances prove  they  need  a  good  one.  Sir,  it 
was  thought  I  should  not  return  from  Baltimore 
until  to-morrow,  and  this  advantage  has  been  taken 
of  my  absence.  But,  Mr.  Patterson,  when  such 
distinguished  gentlemen  as  yourself  set  the  exam- 
ple, I  know  not  what  to  say." 

"  Forgive  them,  sir,  forgive  them,"  said  Mr. 
Patterson,  in  his  blandest  tones. 

"  Let  them  repair  to  their  homes,  then,  instantly. 
Mr.  Patterson,  your  eloquent  conversation  has 
made    me  forget  myself;    I  don't   wonder   they 


178  A  FROLIC  AMONG  THE  LAWYERS. 

should  have  forgotten  themselves.  Let  them 
depart." 

"There,  hoys,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Patterson,  "I 
have  a  greater  opinion  of  my  oratorical  powers  than 
ever.  Be  ye  all  dismissed  until  I  again  appear  as 
a  Pawnee  brave,  wThich  I  fear  will  be  a  long  time, 
for  'tis  not  every  day  that  such  men  as  my  western 
client  are  picked  up.  But,  Mr.  Sears,  what  do 
you  say  about  Dogberry  ?  He  must  be  where  he 
was  ;  to-morrow  must  type  yesterday.  Dogberry, 
how  is  Verges  ?" 

"I  don't  know  him,"  said  Dogberry,  doggedly. 

"  Why,  sir,  he  is  the  associate  of  your  name- 
sake in  Shakspeare's  immortal  page.  Let  this 
play  to-night,  Mr.  Sears,  be  like  that  in  which 
Dogberry's  namesake  appeared — let  it  be  *  Much 
ado  about  Nothing.'" 

Sears  smiled,  and  nodded  his  head  approvingly. 

"  Then  be  the  court  adjourned,"  exclaimed  Mr. 
Patterson.  "  Dogberry,  you  and  my  friend  Sears 
are  still  together,  and  you  must  remember  in  the 
premises,  what  your  namesake  said  to  Verges. 
'An'  two  men  ride  of  a  horse,  one  man  must 
ride  behind.'  " 

Giving  three  cheers  for  Mr.  Patterson,  we  boys 
separated,  and  the  next  day  found  us  betimes  in 
the  academy,  where  mum  was  the  word  between 
all  parties. 


THE  MISSIONARY'S  CONVERT. 


CHAPTER  I. 


I  have  always  had  a  peculiar  respect  for  the 
Methodists.  My  grandfather  was  a  rigid  member, 
and  one  of  the  first  proselytes  in  Baltimore.  I 
have  heard  it  said  that  he  stood  within  the  door  of 
an  humble  dwelling,  I  think  in  Tripolet's  alley, 
where  he  could  see  what  was  going  on  without,  as 
well  as  listen  to  the  preacher,  in  order  to  give 
notice  of  any  contemplated  intrusion,  while  Bishop 
Coke,  the  friend  of  Wesley,  expounded  his  faith  to 
his  then  few  followers.  He  was  at  that  time  a  man 
of  ample  means  ;  a  leading  member  of  the  city 
council,  many  of  whose  ordinances  he  framed ; 
charitable  and  public  spirited,  and,  withal,  a  local 
preacher,  for  which  he  received  no  salary.  The 
good  he  strove  to  do,  was  performed  for  its  own 
sake.  He  "  coveted  no  man's  silver,  nor  gold,  nor 
apparel."     One  Sabbath,  while   administering  the 


178  the  missionary's  convert. 

sacrament,  he  was  stricken  with  a  paralysis,  from 
the  effects  of  which  he  never  recovered.  I  have 
often  heard  him  speak  of  Coke,  and  the  little  flock 
who  then  worshipped  with  him. 

We  all  know  what  a  strong  hold  the  Methodist 
faith  has  on  the  public  mind.  I  should  not,  how- 
ever, omit  to  notice  one  trait  in  my  grandfather's 
faith.  He  was  sternly  opposed  to  what  are  called 
"  shouting  meetings."  He  held,  however,  that 
Christianity  inculcated,  in  all  its  precepts,  repub- 
licanism ;  and  that  Methodism  conformed  more 
strictly  to  it  than  any  other  Christian  creed. 
Though  not  myself  a  member  of  any  church,  I  re- 
member with  deep  respect  and  reverence,  the  man- 
ner in  which  he  would  open  the  "  big  ha'  Bible," 
and  say,  while  the  family  were  all  assembled  round 
him,  before  retiring  for  the  night,  "let  us  worship 
God!" 

In  "the  monumental  city"  I  read  law,  and 
before  I  was  nineteen,  was  admitted  to  its  practice. 
I  had  some  little  business,  particularly  in  defending 
criminals ;  and  I  was  wont  to  exercise  my  lungs  in 
crazy  declamations  at  political  meetings. 

I  had  not  been  a  "lawyer  at  law"  quite  a  year, 
when  ill  health  compelled  me  to  renounce  the  pro- 
fession, and  I  became  domiciliated  at  the  residence 
of  my  uncle,  who  rejoiced  in  a  delightful  farm  a 
few  miles  from  town.  A  kinder  spirit  never  illu- 
mined  mortal   clay,  or  left  it  for  a  fitter  sphere. 


THE  MISSIONARY'S  CONVERT.  179 

But  for  his  attention,  and  that  of  a  beloved  aunt, 
"  life's  fitful  fever."  would  have  ended  with  me  but 
a  few  years  after  it  commenced. 

While  practising  my  profession,  I  defended  a 
schoolmate  of  mine  under  the  following  circum- 
stances: His  father  was  a  Methodist,  a  peace- 
loving  man,  who  had  been  converted  under  the 
preaching  of  my  grandfather,  for  whom  he  had  a 
profound  respect,  and  more  than  a  brotherly  re- 
gard. The  fraternal  hand  extended  beyond  this 
world,  and,  I  believe,  binds  them  in  another  and  a 
better. 

This  worthy  gentleman,  who  was  named  God- 
frey, acquired  a  handsome  fortune,  and  purchased 
a  large  estate  a  few  miles  from  my  uncle's.  His 
son  Adam,  who  was  named  after  my  grandfather, 
was  a  roystering,  reckless  blade,  but  his  character 
was  dashed  with  the  noblest  impulses,  which  would 
flash  forth  like  the  play  of  the  lightning  in  a 
darkening  cloud.  He  had  a  lovely  sister,  named 
Jane,  whom  I  have  always  deemed  to  be  one  of  the 
most  enchanting  women  I  ever  beheld ;  and  it  was 
not  more  her  peerless  beauty,  than  her  angelic 
purity,  which  impressed  you.  A  young  lawyer,  of 
feeble  mind,  but  malignant  heart,  was  assiduously 
attentive  to  her.  I  knew  him  slightly  before  I 
knew  her  ;  and  he  was  wont  to  remark  to  me,  in 
reply  to  some  jest  or  other  of  mine,  with  regard  to 
the    report   of  an   engagement   existing  between 


180  THE  MISSIONARY'S  CONVERT. 

them,  that  he  "  never  could  get  that  far,  until  he 
turned  religious,  and  that  he  was  waiting  on  the 
'  anxious  seat'  of  hope,  for  the  first  favorable  op- 
portunity." 

I  did  not  relish  this  jest  at  the  religious  views  of 
a  sect  which  I  respected;  and  I  told  him  so,  with  a 
bluntness  that  ever  afterward  prevented  anything 
between  us  but  a  salute  in  passing. 

Jane,  at  first,  rather  encouraged  his  attentions ; 
but  certain  developments  in  his  character,  together 
with  her  father's  wishes,  caused  her  to  reject  him. 
Perhaps  the  advice  of  Adam  influenced  her  as 
much  as  anything  ;  for  he  despised  my  brother 
limb,  and  she  loved  her  brother  with  a  devotedness 
I  have  never  seen  surpassed.  Upon  this,  the  re- 
jected suitor,  in  a  disguised  hand,  wrote  an  infa- 
mous anonymous  letter  to  her  father  concerning 
her.  It  was  shown  to  Adam,  who  had  then  left 
school,  and  was  living  with  his  widowed  father  and 
his  sister,  in  the  country,  where  they  generally 
passed  the  summer. 

Without  saying  a  word,  Adam  mounted  his 
horse,  repaired  to  town,  and  sought  the  office  of 
the  lawyer,  whose  door  he  entered  and  locked,  and 
whom,  in  his  rage,  he  would  have  beaten  to  death 
with  no  other  weapon  than  his  horsewhip  and  fist, 
in  spite  of  the  superior  size  of  his  antagonist,  and 
his  liberal  use  of  the  chairs  and  table,  if  persons 
without,  attracted  by  his  cries  of  "  murder  !"  and 


THE  MISSIONARY'S  CONVERT.  181 

"help  !"  had  not  rushed  in,  and  with  much  diffi- 
culty rescued  him. 

Our  lawyer,  whose  skull  was  as  brainless  as  that 
of  his  dead  brother,  whose 

"Dome  of  thought  and  palace  of  the  soul," 

was  rid  of  its  tenant  when  Hamlet  picked  it  up  in 
the  graveyard,  where  they  laid  Ophelia  in  the 
earth;  would,  nevertheless,  not  be  knocked  about 
the  sconce,  without  complaining  of  his  "  action  of 
battery  !"  Adam  was  immediately  indicted  for 
the  offence.  He  employed  me  as  his  counsel,  and 
this  renewed  an  old  acquaintance.  I  had  no  doubt 
who  wrote  the  letter,  but  the  point  was  to  prove  it, 
in  mitigation  of  damages;  for  although  weeks 
elapsed  before  the  trial,  my  brother  limb  still  bore, 
on  that  day,  like  the  veteran  of  a  worthier  field, 
convincing  evidence  of  stern  encounters. 

I  obtained  many  of  the  lawyer's  letters,  and 
several  legal  instruments  which  he  had  drawn  up  ; 
but  he  had  so  well  disguised  his  hand  in  this  out- 
rageous communication,  that  it  could  not  be  said 
that  any  similarity  existed  between  them.  Butler 
remarks,  in  commenting  upon  "  Junius  Identi- 
fied," a  work  which  assumes  to  prove  that  Sir 
Philip  Francis  was  the  author  of  these  celebrated 
letters,  that  the  external  evidence  was  sufficient, 
he  believed,  to  satisfy  a  jury  of  the  fact,  but  that 
the  internal  evidence  proved  the  contrary ;  that 
16 


182  THE  missionary's  convert. 

Sir  Philip's  mind  was  not  capable  of  the  author- 
ship. Our  evidence  was  quite  the  opposite  of  this 
— the  internal  evidence  ;  the  mind  and  heart  of 
the  party  were  quite  capable  of  the  act ;  but  the 
external  proof  was  wanting. 

I  knew,  if  I  were  to  ask  him  if  he  wrote  the 
letter,  the  court  would  not  require  him  to  answer 
the  question,  should  he  or  his  counsel  object  to  it, 
as  no  one  is  bound  to  criminate  himself.  But,  I 
thought,  from  what  I  knew  of  his  character,  that 
he  would  not  employ  any  aid,  and  I  did  not  believe 
that  the  prosecuting  attorney,  whp  knew  him  well, 
would  be  over  anxious  to  shield  him  from  the  in- 
quiry. I  therefore  believed  that,  by  suddenly 
producing  the  letter,  and  asking  him  the  question, 
boldly:  "Did  you  write  that?"  I  might  extort 
the  confession  from  his  conscious  guilt.  It  was 
optional  with  my  client,  either  to  have  a  jury  trial, 
or  to  submit  the  case  to  the  court.  I  advised  the 
latter.  I  knew  the  judge  to  be  a  man  of  sterling 
integrity,  who  from  his  heart  would  despise  such 
an  act  as  I  intended  to  charge  upon  the  prosecut- 
ing witness. 

The  witnessing  lawyer,  who  was  large  enough 
to  have  swallowed  my  little  friend  Adam,  entered 
with  great  minuteness  into  the  aggravations,  hor- 
rors, and  death-purpose  of  the  assault.  He  told 
how  he  was  seated  in  his  office,  busily  engaged  in 
professional   business,    when   my    client    entered, 


THE  MISSIONARY'S  CONVERT.  183 

locked  the  door,  and  knocked  him  down,  and, 
before  he  was  enabled  to  defend  himself,  horribly 
blackened  his  eyes.  " Ecce  signum"  said  his 
glance  at  the  court,  as  plainly  as  ever  glance  said 
it.  He  was  thus  prevented,  he  said,  from  seeing 
anything  distinctly  that  afterwards  occurred ;  my 
client,  he  declared,  took  advantage  of  this,  and 
attacked  him  with  a  chair  ;  with  the  intention  of 
murdering  him. 

"It's  a  lie!"  shouted  Adam,  oblivious  of  his 
whereabout,  and  advancing  toward  the  witness 
with  the  evident  intention  of  "  deepening  the 
combat"  and  the  "  black  and  blue"  of  his  eye. 
His  honor  ordered  silence,  looking  sternly  at 
Adam,  as  if  with  the  purpose  of  reprimanding 
him  ;  when  I  took  advantage  of  the  occasion,  and 
suddenly  opening  the  letter  to  the  confused  gaze 
of  the  witness,  demanded,  "  Did  you  write  that  ?" 
"  I  must  do  my  duty,"  I  added,  "  I  have  speci- 
mens of  your  handwriting  in  court." 

The  guilty  victim  started,  and  scarcely  knowing 
what  he  did,  confessed  the  fact.  I  asked  no  more 
questions,  but  handing  the  letter  to  the  judge, 
explained,  in  a  sentence,  the  relation  the  witness 
had  sought  to  establish  for  himself  in  the  family 
of  Mr.  Godfrey,  and  his  failure  ;  which,  I  stated, 
I  could  prove  by  persons  then  in  court,  if  the 
witness  denied  it.     He  replied  to  me — 


184  THE  missionary's  convert. 

"  I  don't  deny  it,  and  that  will  prove  that  I 
meant  no  harm  in  writing  the  letter." 

The  judge  thought  otherwise.  I  never  saw  his 
countenance  assume  such  an  expression  of  dis- 
pleasure as  on  this  occasion,  although  he  was  a 
stern  man,  and  had  long  presided  in  a  criminal 
court,  which  had  made  him  familiar  with  every 
species  of  depravity.  He  imposed  but  a  nominal 
fine  upon  my  client,  and  seemed  to  regret  that  it 
was  made  his  duty  to  impose  any  ;  and  then  read 
the  lawyer  a  lecture,  which  I  am  persuaded  he 
will  never  forget.  He  said,  he  had  doubts  whether 
it  was  not  his  duty  to  exclude  him  altogether  from 
the  bar.  This  remark  operated  as  an  effectual 
expulsion,  for  the  letter-writer  left  the  city  a  few 
weeks  after ;  and  if  he  has  not  materially  mended 
his  ways,  he  has  certainly  ere  this  appeared  as  a 
prisoner,  instead  of  a  practitioner. 

Shortly  after  this  trial,  in  midsummer,  I  re- 
paired to  the  country,  obtained  a  Rosinante,  and, 
as  far  as  my  health  would  permit,  amused  myself 
— when  I  left  my  books,  which  was  very  often — 
with  the  little  incidents  and  adventures  in  the 
neighborhood,  not  forgetting  an  occasional  attend- 
ance at  the  political  meetings.  My  indisposition 
spread  a  gloom  over  everything.  My  father's 
family  had  departed  for  the  West.  For  many 
years  they  had  occupied  an  estate  adjoining  my 
uncle's  ;  and,  with  a  feverish,  morbid  fondness,  I 


THE  MISSIONARY'S  CONVERT.  185 

delighted  to  visit  the  scenes  of  my  boyhood,  and 
dwell  upon  every  rivulet,  and  rock,  and  hill,  and 
tree  that  had  been  familiar  to  my  earliest  memory. 
How  often,  in  the  hush  of  night,  when  returning 
from  town,  have  I  taken  a  by-way  through  the 
wToods,  that  I  might  call  up  old,  thick,  clustering 
associations  !  With  feelings  so  different  from  a 
child's,  when,  benighted  by  the  old  graveyard,  I 
have  stopped  my  horse,  and  tried  to  recall  the 
sensations  of  indescribable  awe  with  which  my 
schoolmates  and  myself  hurried  past,  in  solemn 
silence,  when  the  evening  sun  had  gone  down,  and 
left  us  lingering  in  our  playful  stroll  home  from 
school. 

Near  by  was  our  parting  place ;  and  well  do  I 
remember  the  echoing  shout,  or  the  whistle  dying 
away  in  the  woods,  with  which  the  lonely  little 
wayfarers  beguiled  their  fears,  as  they  took  their 
separate  paths  to  their  homes.  More  than  one 
bonny  face  was  in  the  group,  from  which  I  was 
here  wont  to  part,  the  black  or  blue-eyed  daugh- 
ters of  our  neighbors  around.  They  are  mothers 
now ;  and  most  of  them  have  seen,  ere  this,  the 
grave  inclose  their  gray-headed  sires,  who  were 
wont  to  pat  me  on  the  head,  and  promise  to  vote 
for  me,  if  I  took  the  right  side  in  politics,  when  I 
grew  to  be  a  man.  They  are  resting  in  that  old 
graveyard  ;  and  although  it  is  not  many  years  ago, 
more  than  one  of  their  fair-haired  daughters  are 
16* 


186  THE  missionary's  convert. 

sleeping  their  last  sleep  beside  them — stem  and 
flower  together !  Twice,  with  my  frail  literary 
attempts,  have  I  sought  the  shrine  of  the  autocrats 
of  literature  in  the  East ;  the  publishers,  who 
drink  their  wine,  it  is  said,  out  of  the  skulls  of 
authors  ;  but  wide  and  far,  I  turned  from  the  monu- 
mental city ;  for  well  I  knew,  I  could  not  bear  to 
call  up  old  associations  to  sunder  them  again.  The 
final  leave-taking,  if  I  die  away  from  these  haunts, 
cannot  give  me  half  the  sorrow ;  I  must  wait  until 
the  ice  grows  a  little  harder  around  my  heart, 
before  I  revisit  the  home  of  my  childhood.  It 
will  be  hard,  indeed,  even  then,  if  it  be  not  melted 
by  the  memory  of  "  auld  lang  syne"  in  the  scenes 
"  where  memory  first  began." 

A  day  or  two  after  I  had  settled  myself  in  the 
country,  my  friend  Adam,  who  had  been  amusing 
himself  in  travelling  from  village  to  village  with 
an  itinerant  juggler,  returned,  and  called  to  see 
me. 

I  observed,  with  deep  regret,  that  he  had  not 
only  fallen  into  the  habit  of  occasional  wild  in- 
toxication, but  he  had  also  acquired  a  passion  for 
gaming,  which  had  already  lost  him  large  sums  of 
money.  While  he  was  absent,  I  had  visited  his 
family  frequently,  and  was  delighted  with  the 
beauty,  intelligence,  and  almost  angelic  purity  of 
his  sister. 

With   the  good    old  gentleman,  I  was  wont  to 


THE  MISSIONARY'S  CONVERT.  187 

hold  long  discourses  upon  freewill,  predestination, 
Wesley,  Summerfield,  Bascom,  and  Adam  Clarke's 
Commentaries.  I  ventured  to  remonstrate  fre- 
quently with  Adam  upon  his  habits;  but  he  always 
turned  it  off  with  a  laugh  or  joke,  or  left  me  without 
saying  a  word.  I  saw  he  deeply  distressed  his 
father  and  sister. 

After  this,  I  seldom  accompanied  him  anywhere, 
or  knew  much  of  what  he  did,  except  from  a  com- 
mon friend,  whom  I  shall  call  Harry,  who  was  at- 
tached to  his  sister,  and  who  was  doing  everything 
in  his  power  to  reclaim  her  brother  and  his  friend. 
I  began  to  fear  his  efforts  were  hopeless. 

One  day  Harry  came  from  the  city,  where  they 
had  been  together  for  a  week,  and  told  me  that 
Adam  was  with  a  nest  of  gamblers ;  that  he  had 
raised  every  cent  he  could  control,  and  lent  it  to 
him;  but  that  he  had  no  doubt  he  would  lose  it  all. 
"  They  are  cheating  him  foully!"  said  Harry.  "I 
told  him  if  he  would  suffer  himself  to  be  made  a 
dupe  of  in  that  way,  I  would  not  stand  by  and  see 
it,  and  so  I  left  him.'' 

That  night  Adam  returned  home.  He  was  silent 
and  sad.  A  camp-meeting  was  to  commence  next 
day,  and  an  eloquent  and  aged  missionary,  a  cele- 
brated minister,  wTas  to  deliver  a  discourse.  I  had 
been  all  the  evening  talking  with  him.  His  silver 
locks  parted  over  his  high,  calm  forehead ;  his  fine 
features,  the  simplicity  of  his  dress  and  manners ; 


188  the  missionary's  convert. 

the  naturalness  of  his  conversation,  and  his  gush- 
ing, heartfelt  piety,  impressed  me  with  feelings  of 
profound  respect.  It  was  a  beautiful  summer 
moonlight  night,  when  the  family  were  all  called 
together  to  prayers.  Adam  was  seated  moodily 
apart,  on  the  porch,  and  entered  the  room  dog- 
gedly. The  missionary  addressed  us  upon  the 
joys  of  home,  and  the  homely  virtues;  told  us  how 
they  solaced  the  cares  of  life,  and  prepared  us,  in 
our  contemplation  of  them,  for  the  "  home  of 
homes."  The  pathetic  tenderness  of  his  language 
and  manners  stole  over  the  heart  like  the  strains 
of  some  touching  melody,  which  the  affections  seem 
to  recognize,  yet  wonder  over. 

It  was  like  a  song  of  home,  heard  in  a  far  land; 
a  memory  of  the  past,  which  something  undefinable 
has  linked,  by  an  electric  chain,  with  the  future. 
It  was,  in  fact,  the  piety  of  a  better  world,  calling 
down  blessings,  like  sunlight,  upon  the  rugged 
pathway  and  weary  wanderer  of  this ;  cheering 
him,  the  while,  to  lift  his  moral  eye  above  the 
mists  that  enshroud  him  here,  to  the  light  that 
would  lead  him  to  its  holy  home.  He  concluded 
with  a  prayer  as  impressive  as  his  remarks,  and 
bade  us  good-night. 

As  we  left  the  room,  Adam  said,  with  an  oath, 
"  that's  a  good  man  ;  don't  you  think  so  ?" 

"I  do,"  I  replied,  emphatically. 


THE  MISSIONARY'S  CONVERT.  189 


CHAPTER  II. 

We  all  took  a  seat  at  the  end  of  the  porch  in 
silence,  -which  was  interrupted  by  my  inquiry  of 
Adam  "  as  to  how  he  came  on  with  those  fellows  ?" 

"  Badly,  in  their  opinion,"  replied  Adam.  "  I 
knew  they  were  cheating  me,  and  I  waited  to  catch 
them  at  it.  I  was  alone  with  them,  and  presently 
saw  one  plainly  hide  a  card.  There  were  three  in 
the  room.  I  had  no  friend  by,  but  I  was  desperate. 
I  sprang  to  the  door,  locked  it,  drew  my  pistols, 
and  told  them  that  I  had  detected  them  in  the  act 
of  cheating ;  that  I  knew  there  was  a  combination 
among  them  for  that  purpose ;  and,"  said  I,  pre- 
senting my  pistols,  "  you  must  refund  every  cent 
I  ever  lost  to  you,  or  take  your  chances  !  Two  of 
you  I  can  kill  instantly,  and  the  other  must  take 
it  'rough  and  tumble'  with  a  desperate  man!" 
You  know  them — Bowling,  Jackson,  and  Sharp. 
They  tried  to  laugh  it  off,  but  I  stood  on  the 
other  side  of  the  table,  and,  drawing  out  my 
watch,  gave  them  just  one  minute.  Bowling 
blustered,  and  swore  he'd  have  the  law  on  me  ; 
but  asked  me,  nevertheless,  how  much  I  claimed  ? 

"  Fifteen  hundred  and  fifty  dollars,"  said  I. 
He's  the  leader,  you  know,  and  he  shelled  it  out. 


190  THE  MISSIONARY'S  CONVERT. 

I  pocketed  my  watch  and  my  money,  opened  the 
door,  and  left  the  room.  As  I  passed,  I  heard 
Bowling  whisper  to  the  others  :  "  Let's  follow  him 
out,  brain  him,  and  get  back  the  money?"  as  he 
said  this,  all  three  followed  me  out.  I  warned 
them  to  return  ;  they  would  not,  and  I  fired  at  the 
foremost." 

"  Did  you  kill  him  ?"  we  all  exclaimed  at  once. 

"  No  ;  I  may  have  hit  him,  though  I  believe 
they  all  returned  to  their  room,  and  I  left  the  house 
unmolested.  I  am  told  they  mean  to  get  me  in- 
dicted for  shooting  with  intent  to  kill.  I  don't 
care  for  myself;  but  the  disgrace,  let  such  a  trial 
end  as  it  may,  to  the  old  gentleman  and  Jane  ! 
Bradshaw,  what  do  you  say  about  it  ?" 

"  Why,"  said  I,  plainly,  "  to  tell  you  the  truth, 
if  you  had  not  been  associating  with  these  men  so 
much  lately,  your  character,  and  the  respectability 
of  your  family,  would  bear  you  through  with  a 
grand-jury,  and  prevent  them  from  finding  a  bill. 
As  it  is,  though  they  should  indict  you  upon  the 
false  swearing  of  these  men  (for  from  your  state- 
ment there  would  be  no  grounds),  they  could  not, 
in  my  opinion,  possibly  obtain  a  conviction.  Did 
any  one  overhear  Bowling's  remark,  about  brain- 
ing you  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  Whelan,  the  bar-keeper,  was  in  the  next 
room.  It  is  separated  only  by  a  thin  board  parti- 
tion, full  of  chinks,  from  the  other,  and  he  over- 


191 

heard  it.  I  have  done  him  some  favors  ;  and  as  I 
was  leaving  the  house,  we  talked  the  matter  over, 
and  he  told  me  what  he  had  heard.  But  his  testi- 
mony is  no  better  than  theirs ;  he's  a  gambler, 
himself,  and  they  are  three  to  one." 

"  I  think,"  said  I,  "  I  can  manage  it,  if  they 
have  not  gone  too  far  to  retreat.  I'll  ride  in  to- 
morrow." 

"  JO'o,  Bradshaw,"  said  he,  grasping  my  hand; 
"  and  you  will  do  me  a  service  I  shall  never  forget. 
I  do  not  care  for  myself,  but  the  old  gentleman 
and  Jane  !  He  paid  a  large  debt  for  me,  yester- 
day, and  this,  this  !  That  old  missionary,"  said 
he,  abruptly  interrupting  himself,  "  prayed  with 
great  feeling." 

"Yes,  he  did!"  I  replied. 

"  Adam,"  exclaimed  Harry,  "with  not  half  the 
feeling  of  a  prayer  I  heard  this  morning.  I 
walked  leisurely  out,  and  arrived  here  before 
breakfast.  "When  it  was  over,  your  father  and 
sister  followed  me  out  of  the  room,  and  asked  for 
you.  I  told  them  I  believed  you  were  in  town. 
Your  sister  burst  into  tears,  but  said  not  a  word. 
I  was  tired,  and  going  into  the  front  room,  I 
threw  myself  on  the  sofa,  behind  the  folding-doors. 
I  was  lost  in  thought,  and  don't  know  how  long  it 
was  before  your  sister  entered  the  back  room, 
alone.  She  kneeled  down  and  prayed  aloud ;  think- 
ing that  no  one  heard  her  but  the  Being  to  whom 


192  THE  missionary's  convert. 

her  supplication  was  addressed.  I  wish  you  could 
have  heard  her.     She  was  praying  for  you." 

Adam  sprung  to  his  feet,  struck  his  clenched 
hand  against  his  brow,  and,  rushing  from  the 
porch,  passed  into  an  adjacent  grove. 

I  stayed  all  night,  but  saw  no  more  of  Adam 
until  the  next  morning,  when  he  made  his  appear- 
ance at  the  breakfast-table,  and  announced  his 
intention  of  accompanying  his  sister  to  the  camp- 
meeting. 

I  mounted  my  horse,  rode  into  the  city,  and 
proceeded  directly  to  the  hotel  at  which  I  knew 
the  gamblers,  at  least  Bowling,  stopped.  Though 
gaming  is  not  among  my  vices,  since  I  never 
played  for  a  cent  in  my  life,  yet  I  knew  Bowling 
well.  We  agreed  in  politics,  and  he  was  a  great 
better  on  elections ;  one  who  gained  his  point  by 
indirection,  and  who,  though  not  so  depraved  as  he 
was  thought  to  be,  was  more  vicious  than  bold. 
Once,  when  he  was  indicted  for  gambling,  I  de- 
fended him. 

I  asked  for  him,  and  was  told  he  was  in  his 
room.  Not  being  disposed  to  stand  upon  cere- 
mony, save  when  it  is  required,  I  asked  the  num- 
ber, and  forthwith  proceeded  thither.  I  rapped. 
A  husky  voice  called,  "  come  in  I"  I  entered.  gThe 
gambler  had  evidently  just  arisen,  late  as  it  was, 
for  his  bed  was  unmade  ;  and  with  his  coat  off, 
and  in  his  stocking  feet,  he  was  gathering  into  a 


THE  MISSIONARY'S  CONVERT.  193 

pack  a  number  of  cards  that  were  scattered  on  the 
table  and  floor.  On  the  table,  also,  were  a  couple 
of  empty  decanters,  and  several  half-filled  glasses, 
from  the  different  colored  contents  of  which  it  was 
evident  that,  though  the  gamblers  might  have 
agreed  as  to  their  game,  they  had  that  variety 
which  is  the  spice  of  life  in  their  choice  of  liquors. 
The  ends  of  cigars,  which  had  been  thrown,  with 
an  unsteady  hand,  toward  the  fireplace,  were  scat- 
tered around.  Bowling  appeared  a  little  confused 
when  he  recognized  his  visitor,  but  he  immediately 
rallied.  His  brow  was  flushed,  and  he  threw  upon 
me  an  inquiring  glance,  as  he  said — 

"  Walk  in,  Mr.  Bradshaw ;  I  am  glad  to  see 
you.     Anything  stirring  ?" 

"  Nothing  remarkable,  that  I  know  of,  Bowling  ; 
how  is  it  with  you  ?" 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Squire.  I  was  asking, 
just  now,  after  you.  I  have  been  robbed,  sir,  of 
three  thousand  dollars  ?" 

"Ah!"  said  I. 

"  I'll  tell  you ;  you  havn  t  quit  the  practice, 
have  you  ?  They  told  me  you  were  living  in  the 
country.  I  want  your  advice.  Yes,  sir,  take  a 
seat ;  robbed  of  three  thousand  dollars.  That  in- 
fernal blackleg,  Adam  Godfrey ;  I  won  some 
money  from  him ;  he  drew  a  pistol  on  me,  swore 
he'd  kill  me,  if  I  did'nt  give  him  three  thousand. 
I  can  prove  it,  both  by  Jackson  and  Sharp.  Not 
17 


194  THE  missionary's  convert. 

only  that,  but  after  I  paid  him  the  money,  as  I 
was  leaving  the  room,  he  shot  at  me.  There,  sir, 
look  at  that  hat ;  that  bullet-hole  tells  the  story. 
I'll  go  the  whole  law  against  him.  I  want  you  to 
go  with  me  to  the  magistrate's  ;  I  must  have  out  a 
writ.  Nothing  less  than  an  attempt  to  murder  ! 
Simbo'll  cool  him  !  You  must  resist  bail,  save  the 
highest.  There,  sir,  that  bullet-hole  tells  the 
tale." 

I  thought  it  would  have  been  well,  could  Adam 
have  escaped,  if  the  bullet  had  gone  a  little 
lower. 

On  discovering  what  his  feelings  were,  I  thought 
myself  justified,  in  defending  Adam,  to  practice  a 
little  artifice,  for  I  knew  that  they  would  swear 
anything  against  him;  this  was  sufficiently  evident, 
indeed,  from  what  I  now  heard ;  I  therefore  re- 
marked— 

"  Bowling,  it  is  proper  that  I  should  tell  you, 
that  I  am  employed  by  Godfrey  against  yourself, 
Jackson,  and  Sharp." 

"  Against  me!     for  what  ?" 

"  Why,  he  says  that  you,  and  the  rest,  cheated 
him  out  of  fifteen  hundred  dollars,  which  he  made 
you  refund  ;  that  after  he  left  the  room,  you  fol- 
lowed him  out,  agreeing  to  beset  him,  'brain  him,' 
and  take  back  the  money." 

"  Ha  !  can  he  prove  it  ? — can  he  prove  it  ?" 

"Yes;  he  says  that  a  person  in  the  next  room,  I 


THE  MISSIONARY'S  CONVERT.  195 

believe,  through  a  thin  partition,  overheard  you,  as 
well  as  himself;  and  that  on  your  following  him 
out,  to  put  your  threat  into  execution,  he  fired  to 
defend  himself.  I  shall  be  sorry  to  appear  against 
you,  but  a  lawyer  must  go  for  his  client.  The 
truth  is,  you  are  well  known  to  be  gamblers  ;  and 
with  this  proof,  if  he  should  bind  you  over,  the 
court  would  require  enormous  security.  Besides,  I 
should  not  be  surprised  if  he  could  prove  that  you, 
together  with  Jackson  and  Sharp,  were  overheard 
conspiring  to  cheat  him,  and  boasting  afterward 
that  you  had  succeeded.'' 

Bowling  looked  exceedingly  black  at  this.  Oh, 
what  an  advantage  innocence  has  over  guilt ! 

"Squire,"  said  he,  in  an  altered  tone,  approach- 
ing close  to  me,  "  as  you  say,  the  hounds  are 
always  after  us.  If  ever  there  were  persecuted 
men,  we  are.     Thunder  !  I'll  tell  you — " 

"  Stop,  Bowling  ;  remember  I  am,  in  this  case, 
Mr.  Godfrey's  counsel.  Don't  tell  me  anything 
against  yourself;  for  I  should  be  sorry  to  be  com- 
pelled to  use  it." 

"  You're  right.  He's  combining  with  a  set  of 
rascals  to  put  us  down  ;  that's  it.  He  knows  that 
the  court  and  jury  will  be  against  us,  and  after  he 
has  obtained,  by  threatening  our  lives,  money  we 
won  fairly  from  him,  he  wants  more  ;  I  suppose  to 
try  his  luck  somewhere  else.  How  much  more  does 
he  claim,  Squire  ?" 


196  THE  missionary's  convert. 

"  I  don't  know,"  I  replied,  "  that  lie  is  entirely 
certain  how  much  you  got  from  him  ;  but  I  speak 
candidly  to  you — " 

"  Do,  do ;  I  don't  think  you  have  any  cause  for 
being  an  enemy  of  mine." 

"  None  whatever.  I  appeared  for  Godfrey  once, 
when  he  was  charged  with  an  assault  and  battery. 
He  nearly  beat  a  doctor  to  death." 

"  He'll  die  with  his  shoes  on,  yet,"  interrupted 
Bowling. 

"  I  defended  him,  as  I  said,  since  then  ;  I  have 
known  him  well,  and  his  family,  who  have  wealth, 
and  are  of  the  first  respectability.  On  their  ac- 
count, I  don't  think,  when  his  temper  cools,  he  will 
be  very  anxious  to  appear  in  this  business ;  for  if 
he  should,  it  would  be  evident  to  all  that  he  had 
been  gambling  himself." 

"  That's  a  fact !  Gambling  ? — he's  always  gam- 
bling ;  he's  one  of  the  biggest  blacklegs  I  ever 
knew." 

"  His  father,  I  am  sure,  would  object  to  any- 
thing of  the  kind,  on  his  part ;  and  I  think  I  have 
some  influence  with  the  old  man." 

"  Then,  Squire,  let's  have  it  hushed  up.  You 
shan't  lose  by  it.  But  that  Godfrey  is  a  perfect 
devil !  Nobody  can  do  anything  with  him.  He 
was  once  near  throwing  Jackson,  big  as  he  is,  out 
of  a  third  story  window.  Do  you  think  he'll  cool 
off?" 


THE  MISSIONARY'S  CONVERT.  197 

"  He  wouldn't,  if  it  were  not  for  the  exposure. 
I'll  advise  with  him." 

"  Do — do!  Stop,  won't  you  take  something  to 
drink  ?" 

"No,  I  thank  you." 

"When  shall  I  see  you,  Squire?" 

"  In  a  day  or  two ;  in  the  mean  time,  keep 
dark." 

"  I  will — depend  on  me ;  I'll  go  immediately 
and  see  Jackson  and  Sharp,"  said  he,  hurrying  on 
his  coat.  "  Squire,  I  may  depend  on  you  now?" 
he  continued,  offering  me  his  hand. 

Taking  the  proffer,  I  replied :  "  The  matter 
shall  be  hushed  up,  Bowling,  or  it  will  be  your 
fault.     Forthwith  see  Jackson  and  Sharp." 

So  saying,  I  departed,  leaving  Mr.  Bowling  in 
quite  a  ruminating  mood. 

The  camp-meeting,  which  we  were  about  to  at- 
tend, was  not  more  than  five  miles  from  the  resi- 
dence of  Mr.  Godfrey.  He  did  not,  therefore, 
pitch  a  tent  on  the  ground,  but,  accompanied  by 
the  missionary  and  his  daughter,  rode  over  every 
day,  and  as  it  was  moonlight,  stayed  until  after  the 
evening  service.  The  first  day,  in  consequence  of 
my  visit  to  Bowling,  the  blackleg,  I  did  not  attend 
the  camp,  but  met  the  family,  together  with  Adam, 
who  had  been  with  them,  at  night.  I  communicated 
to  the  latter  what  had  occurred  between  Bowling 
and  myself,  at  which  he  was  greatly  relieved.  I 
17* 


198  THE  missionary's  convert. 

never  heard  a  word  more  on  the  subject,  except 
from  the  gamblers  themselves  in  their  anxious  in- 
quiries to  know  whether  it  would  be  hushed  up  ? 
Such  a  coward  is  guilt! 

That  evening  we  kept  our  steps  from  bedward 
until  much  after  the  usual  hour  for  retiring,  em- 
ploying the  time  in  agreeable  conversation.  Adam 
sat  by,  an  attentive  listener.  The  missionary  re- 
hearsed to  us  many  scenes  in  the  far  West,  in  which 
he  had  been  an  actor,  of  deep  interest.  He 
regretted  much  that  he  had  never  heard  Sum- 
merfield. 

It  so  happened  that  I  was  the  only  one  present 
who  had  heard  him  ;  and  notwithstanding  I  told 
the  venerable  minister  I  was  but  a  child  at  the 
time,  yet  such  was  his  admiration  for  that  most 
eloquent  and  apostolic  man,  that  he  questioned  me 
over  and  over  again  touching  my  impressions  of 
him ;  and  I  seemed  to  gain  an  interest  in  his  eyes, 
from  the  fact  that  I  had  looked  upon  and  listened 
to  that  gentle  spirit  of  his  church,  now  "  inheriting 
the  promises." 

The  missionary  had  known  my  grandfather,  and 
he  spoke  of  him  in  terms  that  greatly  gratified  me. 
"My  son,"  said  he,  "your  grandfather  was  a 
truly  good  man.  I  was  with  him  when  he  died ; 
and  though  it  is  many  years  ago,  the  scene  lives  in 
my  heart  and  memory  more  vividly  than  the  events 
of  the  hour  that  have  just  passed.     I  was  kneeling 


199 

by  his  bedside,  and  I  knew  the  hour  had  come,  for 
I  have  witnessed  many  such  an  hour,  my  children ; 
and,  0,  it  is  a  fearful  one  to  him  who  is  not  pre- 
pared !  He  was  perfectly  conscious,  but  the  lamp 
of  life  was  flickering  fast.  As  he  closed  his  eyes, 
apparently  in  prayer,  I  said  to  him  :  4  Brother,  tell 
me  at  this  earthly  parting,  are  you  convinced  of 
the  great  principles  of  our  faith  ?'  He  opened  his 
eyes  and  looked  upward,  with  the  calmness  and 
trust  with  which  a  child,  when  resting  in  its 
mother's  arms,  will  look  up  into  her  face,  as  slum- 
ber steals  over  it,  and  said  :  '  I  know  that  my  Re- 
deemer liveth  !'  It  was  his  last  breath  that  uttered 
these  words,  but  his  spirit  passed  away  so  gently, 
that  I  was  not  convinced  it  had  departed  until  I 
felt  his  hand  grow  cold  in  mine.  I  said,  then,  my 
children,  to  the  bystanders,  and  after  long  expe- 
rience of  the  world,  I  say  now  to  you,  that  I  would 
rather  have  been  that  humble  Christian,  on  his 
lowly  bed  of  death,  than  Napoleon  at  the  head  of 
his  devoted  and  victorious  legions,  the  conqueror 
of  the  world.  The  true  Christian  is  a  greater  con- 
queror ;  he  conquers  himself.  The  greatest  eulogy 
that  was  ever  pronounced  on  Washington,  was 
made  by  his  biographer,  Ramsay,  who  in  speaking 
of  the  strength  of  his  passions,  says  :  '  With  them 
was  his  first  contest,  and  over  them  his  first  vic- 
tory.' This,  his  first  victory,  saved  our  country  ; 
for  it  enabled  him  to  curb,  like  an  obedient  child, 


200  THE  missionary's  convert. 

that  ambition  which,  in  another  heart,  might  have 
gained  a  giant's  strength  and  prompted  its  pos- 
sessor to  grasp  at  empire.  It  was  this,  his  first 
victory,  that  illustrated,  in  his  last  moments,  the 
lines  of  the  poet: — 

'  0  grave,  where  is  thy  victory  ! 
0  death,  where  is  thy  sting!' 

It  enabled  him  calmly,  on  his  death-bed,  to  review 
the  great  events  of  his  varied  existence,  and  to  say 
to  his  physician,  who  stood  beside  him  :  '  Doctor, 
lam  not  afraid  to  die.'  How  beautiful !  There 
is  in  such  a  scene  a  philosophy  beyond  the  stoic's, 
for  it  expresses  a  hope  beyond  the  grave.  How 
different  the  earthly  parting  of  Napoleon,  chained 
on  his  ocean-washed  rock,  with  a  mind  as  wild  as 
the  waves  dying  in  the  hour  of  the  storm,  and 
mistaking  the  war  of  the  elements  for  the  thunders 
of  the  battle-field.  '  Head  of  the  army  ! '  he  ex- 
claimed, in  that  mad  moment,  with  his  last  breath, 
and  his  soul  took  its  flight  to  meet,  at  the  dread 
tribunal,  the  hundreds  of  thousands  whom  he  had 
hurried  to  their  long  account,  unconscious,  unre- 
pentant, unredeemed." 

Stirred  by  the  tones  of  the  old  man,  but  not 
catching  his  spirit,  I  exclaimed. 

"  Charge,  Chester,  charge  ! — on,  Stanly,  on  ! 
Were  the  last  words  of  Marmion  !  " 


THE  MISSIONARY'S  CONVERT.  201 

lie  smiled  at  my  enthusiasm,  and  then  said, 
gravely — 

"  But  what  were  his  last  7wpes  $  " 
"  True,"  said  I  :— 

'  Shame  and  dishonor  sit 

By  his  grave  ever  ! 
Blessings  shall  hallow  it, 

Never,  oh,  never  ! ' 

"  God's  mercy  is  boundless,"  said  the  missionary. 
"  He  is  merciful,  not  only  to  his  dutiful  and  lovely 
child,  but  the  mightiest,  the  most  rebellious,  and 
the  most  sinful." 

We  had  a  touching  prayer  from  the  missionary, 
before  we  separated.  I  took  a  seat  on  the  porch, 
and  Adam,  after  pacing  to  and  fro  for  some  time, 
at  last  paused  before  me,  and  said — 

"  '  A  high-heeled  Shoe  for  a  Limping  Christian  ; ' 
1  Hooks  and  Eyes  for  Unbelievers'  Breeches.'  Con- 
found those  books  !  I  read  them  in  my  boyhood, 
and  they  gave  me  a  disrespect  for  the  Methodists, 
which  I  never  could  surmount,  until  I  heard  this 
good  old  missionary.  I  ought  to  have  reflected 
that  my  father  and  sister  at  least  try  to  practice 
what  I  believe  he  both  practices  and  preaches." 


202  THE  missionary's  convert. 


CHAPTER  III. 

When  we  left  the  room,  after  the  missionary, 
who  had  gone  up  stairs,  I  heard  Adam  order  his 
horse.     I  asked  him  if  he  was  going  to  town. 

"  No,"  said  he,  "  a  black  boy  has  come  over  to 
say,  that  Mr.  Jones,  who  has  been  ill  for  some 
time,  is  worse.  The  missionary  is  going  to  see 
him  to-night,  and  I  think  I  ought  to  accompany 
him,  and  not  leave  him  to  the  guidance  of  the 
negro." 

In  a  few  moments  the  good  old  man  came  out, 
the  horses  were  brought,  and  they  departed  to- 
gether. It  was  after  midnight  when  he  and  Adam 
returned.  They  reported  that  Jones  died  about 
an  hour  after  they  arrived. 

The  next  day  we  all  proceeded  together  to  the 
camp-meeting.  I  was  surprised  when  Adam  again 
expressed  his  determination  to  attend.  We  all 
rode  on  horseback.  My  friend  Harry,  and  I,  by 
the  side  of  the  gentle  Jane,  and  Adam — it  was  a 
little  singular — on  one  side  of  the  missionary,  and 
his  father  on  the  other.  The  suspicion  crossed 
my  mind  more  than  once,  that  he  was  meditating 
some  mad  prank  or  other. 

"  No,"  thought  I,  "  it  cannot  be,  after  such  an 


THE  MISSIONARY'S  CONVERT.  203 

occurrence  as  has  just  happened,  and  in  the  pre- 
sence of  his  father  and  the  clergyman." 

The  morning  was  beautiful.  Not  a  cloud  ap- 
peared in  the  heavens,  although  the  early  warmth 
threatened  a  noon  of  sultriness.  "We  rode  up 
the  turnpike  about  a  mile,  and  then  struck  off 
into  what  was  called  an  "  old  field,"  an  uninclosed 
place,  where  tobacco  had  been  tilled,  until  the  soil 
was  exhausted.  This  was  bounded  on  one  side  by 
a  deep  ravine,  which  was  bridged  over,  in  which 
flowed  a  stream  called  Mad  Run.  A  compara- 
tively slight  rain  would  swell  it  to  a  great  depth 
and  wideness,  owing  to  the  fact  that  the  country 
immediately  around  its  source,  and  for  a  long  way 
beside  it,  was  very  hilly,  and  fed  it,  particularly 
during  a  rain,  with  innumerable  torrents.  As  we 
were  crossing  the  bridge,  I  could  not  but  observe 
that  it  was  a  very  slight  one,  and  I  lingered  be- 
hind my  companions,  to  admire  the  wild  channel, 
which  the  perpetual  wear  of  the  waters  had  made 
through  the  very  hills.  About  twelve  or  fifteen 
feet  below  the  bridge,  the  waters  splashed  over  a 
rocky  bed,  and,  chafed  like  human  beings  by  re- 
sistance, rushed  on  like  them  to  the  goal. 

A  pleasant  ride  over  hill  and  dale,  from  this 
spot,  brought  us  to  a  place  where  a  hill,  covered 
with  the  highest  and  most  luxurious  trees,  gently 
sloped  down  a  crystal  brook  that  wound  round  its 
base,  and  then   meandered  on  to  the  Mad  Run. 


204  THE  missionary's  convert. 

On  the  side  of  the  hill  was  the  camp-meeting. 
Curving  up  from  the  brook,  the  tents  were  pitched 
in  the  form  of  a  half  moon,  extending  about  half- 
way up  the  side  of  the  hill.  Midway,  between 
the  extreme  tents,  under  the  clump  of  noble  trees, 
a  temporary  pulpit,  or  rostrum,  was  erected,  from 
which  the  preacher  addressed  the  multitude. 

The  missionary  preached,  and  most  movingly. 
As  I  glanced  at  a  group  of  fashionable  loiterers, 
who  had  been  sauntering  through  the  camp,  with 
easy  indifference,  uttering  witless  jests  upon  the 
scene,  listening  to  him  with  attention,  I  thought 
of  the  line  of  the  poet : — 

"  And  fools  who  came  to  scoff,  remained  to  pray." 

He  spoke  of  the  sustained  contentment  of  the 
good  man,  amid  all  the  ills  of  life,  because  of  the 
heavenward  hope,  and  contrasted  his  feelings  with 
that  of  the  wrong-doer,  who,  however  well  situated, 
in  a  worldly  point  of  view,  doubts  and  yet  fears 
the  great  results  beyond  the  grave.  In  speaking 
of  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  and  the  shrinking 
which  it  feels  on  leaving  its  earthly  tenement,  he 
employed  an  illustration  which  it  strikes  me  I 
have  heard  before,  but  certainly  never  so  impres- 
sively expressed. 

He  compared  the  soul,  about  to  take  its  upward 
flight,  to  an  eagle,  which,  after  long  confinement, 
finds  its  prison-door  open.     "  How  fearfully,"  he 


THE  MISSIONARY'S  CONVERT.  205 

said,  in  a  faint  voice — and  he  seemed  to  fear  to 
raise  his  hand  above  the  pulpit — "  how  fearfully 
it  looks  forth  at  first,  and  then  shrinks  back ! 
How,  when  it  ventures  forth,  it  gazes  round  and 
round  with  a  dazzled  eye,  and  casts  a  wondering 
glance  upon  the  day-god  above!"  Here  the 
speaker  looked  timidly  at  the  sun,  which,  through 
the  trees,  threw  a  tremulous  ray  upon  him. 
"  How  feebly  it  essays  a  little  circle,  with  wing 
but  half  expanded ;  then  it  feels  its  strength  of 
pinion,  and  takes  a  broader  sweep,  yet  casts  a  long- 
ing, lingering  look  upon  its  earthly  tabernacle. 
Then,"  continued  he,  while  the  wave  of  his  arm 
waxed  eloquent,  and  his  tones  heart-stirring,  "  it 
circles  wider  and  wider,  farther  and  farther,  higher 
and  higher ;  its  impulses  lose  their  earthliness  ;  it 
bathes  and  gladdens  its  outstretched  wing  in  the 
refulgent  beam ;  it  feels  the  glory  more  and  more, 
and  its  strength  is  renovated  beyond  the  might  of 
its  prime,  until,  fixing  its  unwinking  eye  on  the 
glorious  orb,  it  darts  upward  to  the  sources  of 
everlasting  light."  As  he  said  this,  he  advanced, 
with  upturned  hands  and  eyes,  while  the  rays  of 
the  sun,  through  an  opening  in  the  trees,  flashed 
upon  his  long  and  silvery  locks,  and  threw  a  halo 
around  him,  that  made  the  man,  like  the  sentiment, 
sublime.  Methought  I  saw  the  heavens  open, 
and  the  winged  messenger  pass  the  everlasting 
skies.  The  speaker  had  scarcely  concluded,  when 
18 


206  THE  missionary's  convert. 

the  sultriness,  which  had  succeeded  the  warmth  of 
the  morning,  became  intense.  For  some  minutes, 
not  a  breath  of  air  stirred,  not  a  leaf  moved. 
Then  the  heavens  became  suddenly  overcast ;  the 
clouds  floated  together  in  dark  masses,  like  the 
gathering  of  armies ;  and  now  and  then  a  fierce 
flash  broke  forth  ;  but,  as  yet,  though  through  the 
trees  we  could  see  the  clouds  moving,  the  leaves 
were  motionless,  and  not  a  drop  of  rain  fell. 

The  missionary  carne  to  our  little  group,  for  we 
were  all  together,  and  observed : — 

"  Brother  Godfrey,  as  I  am  to  officiate  at  the 
funeral  of  Mr.  Jones,  and  as  you  mean  to  attend, 
had  we  not  better  depart  ?  I  fear  we  shall  have  a 
storm." 

We  accordingly  mounted  our  horses,  and  left 
the  camp.  When  we  were  clear  of  the  woods,  and 
while  we  were  ascending  an  eminence  which  com- 
manded the  prospect,  the  missionary  asked  Mr.  God- 
frey if  they  were  subject  to  violent  storms  in  that 
region  ?  Being  informed  that  we  were  not,  he  said 
that  he  had  known  a  storm  to  force  its  way  with 
such  violence  through  a  wood,  as  not  to  leave  a  tree 
standing  in  its  path.  "  If  you  were  subject  to  such 
storms  here,"  he  continued,  "  I  should  say,  from 
my  experience,  that  we  should  have  one  now.  God 
grant  that  it  come  not  over  the  camp." 

He  had  scarcely  spoken,  when  the  rain  began 
to  fall  in  big  drops,  and  the  roar  of  the  winds,  afar 


THE  MISSIONARY'S  CONVERT.  207 

off,  could  be  distinctly  heard,  as  if  they  were  mut- 
tering their  wrath,  and  gathering  strength.  He 
looked  around,  and  said  : — 

"We  must  ride  fast;  there  is  not  air  enough  stir- 
ring here  to  give  an  indication  of  the  way  the  storm 
will  sweep ;  but  I  believe  it  will  be  on  this  side  of 
the  run.     We  must  on." 

We  accordingly  put  spurs  to  our  horses,  and 
rode  rapidly  toward  the  bridge.  The  dropping  of 
the  rain  now  ceased  for  awhile,  but  the  heavens 
grew  fearfully  dark,  and  the  air  began  to  stir.  Our 
horses  threw  back  their  ears,  and  seemed,  like  their 
riders,  to  observe  the  sky.  At  this  moment,  a  bolt 
that  seemed  to  rend  the  hills  made  our  path  lurid 
with  light;  while  our  horses  trembled,  like  our- 
selves, at  the  awful  peal  which  accompanied  it. 
The  rain  now  burst  forth ;  and  in  an  instant  the 
blast  was  down  upon  us,  sweeping  the  valley  with 
resistless  violence.  We  cast  our  eyes  anxiously  to 
the  camp.  We  could  see  indistinctly  the  white 
tents  through  the  trees,  but  nothing  more.  Yet 
the  fury  of  the  storm  seemed  to  be  there,  for  the 
air  grew  thick  above  it  with  leaves  and  the  sun- 
dered branches  of  trees;  and  presently  the  horses, 
having  broken  from  their  fastenings,  came  dashing 
madly  past  us. 

"  We  are  in  the  hands  of  God,  children!"  said 
the  missionary,  calmly.     "  We  must  press  for  the 


208  THE  missionary's  convert, 

bridge.  The  furj  of  the  storm  is  not  here,  but  this 
is  dangerous." 

We  urged  our  steeds  at  the  admonition,  and  an 
intervening  hill  soon  hid  the  camp  from  our  sight; 
but  the  frightened  horses  of  the  worshippers  still 
came  dashing  on.  A  tree  not  fifty  yards  to  our 
right,  as  we  turned  to  the  left,  was  prostrated  with 
a  terrible  crash.  We  reached  the  stream  in  safety. 
The  storm  was  not  so  furious  there,  but  the  mad 
waters  came  leaping  down  the  ravine,  and  throw- 
ing their  waves  towards  the  bridge,  as  if  anxious  to 
sweep  it  away.  Several  horses  from  the  camp 
stood  by  the  bridge,  evidently  desirous  to  cross, 
but,  apparently,  kept  back  by  an  instinctive  sense 
of  danger. 

"Will  it  not  be  hazardous  to  cross  the  bridge  ?" 
asked  Mr.  Godfrey. 

"  I  think  not,"  replied  the  missionary.  "Let 
us  pass  one  at  a  time.  I  see  your  horses  are 
frightened — mine  is  not.     I'll  lead  the  way." 

"No,"  said  Adam,  dismounting  and  giving  to 
Harry  the  bridle  of  his  horse,  "  let  me  lead  yours 
over.     You  can  walk;  it  will  be  safer." 

But  the  missionary  said  there  was  no  danger, 
and  spurred  his  horse  toward  the  bridge. 

The  well-trained  animal  drew  back  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  passed  on.  The  bridge  was  about 
ten  yards  long.  We  held  back  our  horses,  that 
now  seemed  to  have  no  sense  of  danger,  as  their 


THE  MISSIONARY'S  CONVERT.  209 

fellow  had  none.  Those  from  the  camp  obeyed 
the  same  impulse,  and,  being  unrestrained,  sprang 
on  the  bridge  after  the  missionary's.  The  frail 
structure  shook  from  end  to  end. 

"Father  in  heaven,  be  merciful!"  ejaculated 
Jane,  as  the  missionary,  on  discovering  his  peril, 
dismounted  from  his  horse.  His  foot  had  scarcely 
touched  the  plank,  when,  with  a  tremendous  crash, 
the  bridge  gave  way,  and  rider  and  horse  were  pre- 
cipitated into  the  foaming  waves.  That  wild  ut- 
terance which  Cooper  has  so  powerfully  described 
in  the  "  Last  of  the  Mohicans,"  as  proceeding  from 
the  horse  when  in  distress,  and  which  startled  the 
brave  Hawkeye  and  the  intrepid  Indians  with  a 
superstitious  dread,  now  broke  forth  from  the  poor 
animals,  and  added,  if  possible,  to  the  horrors  of 
the  scene. 

"He's  lost!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Godfrey,  in  de- 
spair. 

"  Not  if  I  can  save  him  !"  exclaimed  Adam, 
throwing  off  his  coat,  and  springing  to  the  edge  of 
the  stream. 

"  My  brother,  he's  a  good  man ;  God  is  with  him ! 
Die  not  as  you  are !"  exclaimed  Jane,  in  a  tone  of 
intense  agony. 

"My  life  is  worthless,  Jane,"  said  Adam,  with 
a  calmness  so  strange,  that  it  struck  me,  even  at 
that  awful  moment. 

Adam  stood  watching  for  the  appearance  of  the 
18* 


210  THE  MISSIONARY'S  CONVERT. 

missionary.  The  bridge  had  caught  edgewise  be- 
tween two  rocks,  on  the  other  side  of  the  stream. 
The  horses  from  the  camp,  that  were  on  the  bridge, 
appeared  first  above  the  water,  and  were  all  borne 
down,  except  one  that  succeeded,  by  swimming,  in 
gaining  the  bank  near  us,  which  was  not  more 
than  two  feet  above  the  flood.  On  the  other  side, 
just  below  the  spot  where  the  bridge  had  rested, 
part  of  the  rock  which  held  it  projected  perpen- 
dicularly up  several  feet.  It  seemed  that  the  mis- 
sionary and  his  horse  were  both  caught  by  the 
bridge.  In  a  moment  more,  his  horse,  which  was 
a  noble  animal,  arose  with  his  head  up  stream  and 
high  out  of  water,  wThile  his  master  was  seen 
clinging  to  the  bridle.  On  observing  this,  Adam 
hurried  above  us,  plunged  in,  and,  in  spite  of  the 
angry  element,  by  his  great  skill  as  a  swimmer, 
succeeded  in  gaining  precisely  what  he  aimed  at, 
the  bridle  of  the  horse.  In  an  instant  he  raised 
the  missionary  from  the  waves.  Both  were  evi- 
dently supported  by  the  bridge,  as  was  the  horse. 
Quick  as  lightning  Adam  placed  the  upper  end  of 
the  stirrup-strap  in  the  missionary's  grasp,  and 
then  holding  with  one  hand  the  horse's  head  out  of 
water,  with  the  other  he  struck  out  for  the  shore. 
The  animal  seemed  to  know  that  a  master  spirit 
guided  him,  for  he  plunged  bravely  toward  us. 
Wildly  the  waves  broke  over  them,  and  the  horse 
in  vain  attempted  to  breast  their  fury.     The  steed 


THE  MISSIONARY'S  CONVERT.  211 

seemed  stationary  for  a  moment,  and  then  yielded 
to  the  force  of  the  element.  Adam,  however,  still 
continued  to  keep  his  head  in  a  proper  position. 
"When  they  got  below  the  point  where  the  concen- 
trated rush  of  the  stream  from  the  obstruction  of 
the  bridge  had  nearly  overwhelmed  them,  Adam 
made  another  effort,  a  desperate  one,  to  gain  the 
shore.  Here  we  saw  the  missionary  distinctly; 
his  head  arose  above  the  back  of  his  horse.  I  see 
the  holy  faith,  then  on  his  countenance,  now ;  it  is 
a  picture  on  my  brain,  more  distinct  than  that  on 
the  wall  before  me.  As  Jane  said,  "  God  was  with 
him."  In  much  less  time  than  I  have  taken  to  tell 
it,  master  and  horse,  with  their  brave  deliverer, 
stood  safely  upon  the  shore.  Poor  Jane  swooned 
when  she  saw  that  her  brother  was  safe. 

The  storm  abated  as  rapidly  as  it  arose.  By  a 
bridge  some  miles  above,  which  had  withstood  the 
violence  of  the  waves,  we  arrived  safely  at  Mr. 
Godfrey's.  As  the  missionary  was  preparing, 
though  it  was  then  nearly  dark,  to  go  to  the  house 
of  mourning  to  perform  the  rites  of  sepulture,  a 
messenger  arrived  to  tell  him  that,  in  consequence 
of  the  storm  having  inundated  the  graveyard,  the 
funeral  would  not  take  place  until  the  next  day,  as 
another  spot  was  to  be  selected  for  the  repose  of 
the  dead. 

Never  shall  I  forget  the  holy  evening  which  we 
spent  after  that  awful  storm.   Uninjured  in  health, 


212  the  missionary's  convert. 

and  with  spirits  gratefully  and  religiously  calm 
and  pure,  the  missionary  joined  the  family  circle. 
Jane  looked  the  personification  of  pious  gratitude, 
in  its  loveliest  form — a  religious  woman.  Harry 
gazed  on  her  with  reverence,  while  Mr.  Godfrey, 
for  the  first  time  in  many  years,  beheld  with  plea- 
sure both  his  children.  But  the  most  remarkable 
feature  of  the  group  was  Adam.  That  expression 
of  desperate  recklessness,  which  once  possessed  his 
countenance,  had  fled.  I  wondered,  as  I  observed 
with  what  respectful  earnestness  he  listened  to  the 
missionary,  if  it  ever  had  been  there.  How  kindly  he 
answered  his  sister,  and  without  a  jest  upon  her 
piety  !  His  very  dog,  that  used  to  avoid  him,  be- 
cause of  the  tricks  he  played  him,  went  wagging 
his  tail  to  his  master,  and  laid  his  head  upon  his 
knee,  the  picture  of  faithfulness,  as  Adam  placed 
his  hand  upon  it. 

But  the  prayer  of  that  "  old  man  eloquent"  that 
night !  I  have  heard  the  great  ones  of  our  land,  in 
the  pulpit,  at  the  bar,  and  in  the  Senate,  in  the 
palmiest  moments  of  ther  oratorical  power  ;  but 
theirs  could  no  more  compare  with  the  heart- 
touching  pathos  of  this  plain  servant  of  God,  than 
would  the  strut  and  stare  of  a  fashionable  tragedian 
compare  with  the  simple  majesty  of  Paul  before  Fes- 
tus.  He  prayed  for  us  all,  for  the  father  and  for  the 
children,  and  for  their  friend  and  for  myself ;  and 
I  have  felt  from  that  hour  to  this,  however  way- 


THE  MISSIONARY'S  CONVERT.  213 

ward  my  mood  and  imaginings,  that  in  heaven's 
high  chancery,  I  too  had  a  claim  and  an  advocate. 
Especially  he  prayed  for  Adam.  "Let,  0  Lord  !" 
he  said,  in  tones  that  left  no  eye  unmoistened,  and 
no  heart  untouched,  "  the  blessings  of  all  the  good 
I  may  hereafter  be  permitted  to  do,  under  thy  pro- 
vidence, light  upon  his  head,  and  be  all  the  evil 
mine,  as  thou  has  vouchsafed  to  make  him  this  day 
the  instrument  of  thy  mercy  for  the  salvation  of 
thy  creature  from  the  wrath  to  come  !  And  when 
thy  seventh  and  last  angel,  in  the  last  war  of  the 
elements,  shall  pour  forth  the  vials  of  thy  wrath, 
and  thy  mighty  voice  shall  proclaim  unto  all  the 
nations  of  the  earth,  'It  is  done!'  forget  not  this 
little  household  !  Shadow  them  under  thy  brood- 
ing and  protecting  wings  !  Let  there  be  no  wan- 
derer from  the  flock,  but  let  them  all,  a  family  in 
heaven,  rejoice  together  in  the  light  of  thy  ever- 
lasting love." 

When  the  prayer  was  concluded,  and  we  arose 
from  our  knees,  Adam  took  a  seat  by  his  sister, 
and  unable,  iron-nerved  as  he  was,  to  control  the 
emotions  that  had  been  swelling  in  his  heart  for 
days,  he  laid  his  head  upon  her  bosom,  and  "wept, 
and  was  forgiven." 

After  all,  there  is  no  love  less  selfish  than  a 
sister's. 

"  My  sister,  my  sweet  sister!  if  a  name 
Purer  and  holier  were,  it  should  be  thine  I" 


214  THE  missionary's  convert. 

So  spake  the  wayward  Childe  to  his  sister ;  and 
when  wife  and  daughter  were  deaf  to  his  fame,  and 
spoke  not  his  name  in  their  household,  and  Fa- 
naticism refused  his  remains  a  resting-place  among 
England's  illustrious  departed,  where  sleeps  none 
worthier,  his  sister,  his  "sweet  sister,"  gave  them 
consecration,  and  built  over  them  the  monument 
which  now  guards  them  from  the  desecration  of 
those  who  should  have  claimed  to  be  nearer  and 
dearer.  And  "  she,  proud  Austria's  mournful 
flower,"  where  was  her  mournfulness,  when  they 
gave  the  hero  of  the  world's  history,  and  her  lord, 
to  the  "  vulture  and  the  rock  ? "  Cold,  selfish,  and 
sensual,  she  pursued  the  routine  of  courtly  patri- 
cian observances,  or  hastened  from  them  to  com- 
mon plebeian  abandonment;  while  Pauline,  not  the 
less  sensual,  but  the  sister,  was  anxious  to  forsake, 
for  that  lonely  rock,  the  voluptuousness  of  the  soft 
clime  she  so  loved,  to  whose  glorious  statuary  her 
glowing  form  had  given  beauty,  that  she  might 
share  the  exile,  and  solace  the  sorrow,  and  soothe 
the  loneliness,  of  that  forsaken  husband,  who  was 
still  to  her  the  man  of  destiny  ;  still  to  her  a  be- 
loved brother ;  whose  blood  was  her  blood  ;  who 
had  given  her  renown  and  empire,  and  to  whom, 
world-forsaken,  she  could  give  what  is  worth  the 
world,  a  sister's  unchanging  love  ! 


MY  AUNT   BETSY 


"WHAT   GREAT   EFFECTS    ARISE  FROM   LITTLE   THINGS. 

It  is  wonderful  how  little  the  mother,  father, 
and  kindest  relative  of  a  child,  understand  his 
sensibilities  and  character,  and  how  often  they  do 
violence  to  his  feelings  by  a  disregard  of  that 
public  opinion  which,  of  its  kind,  prevails  among 
children  as  much  as  it  does  among  men.  The  boy 
is  as  sensitive  to  ridicule  as  the  man — more  so ; 
and  he  suffers  just  as  much  from  being  laughed  at 
among  his  companions  as  the  man  does  among  his. 
How  often  a  child  has  been  compelled  to  wear  a 
hat,  cap,  trowsers,  or  shoes  of  some  ungainly  cut, 
when  they  might  just  as  well  have  been  made  after 
the  fashion  of  his  fellows  ;  which  has  not  only  sub- 
jected him  to  ridicule,  but  given  him  a  nickname, 
which  made  him  a  laughing-stock  through  life;  and 
which  was,  perhaps,  the  first  thing  that  led  him  to 
undervalue  his  own  capacity  an'd  character,  and  to 
consort  with  those  below  him,  who  were  the  grada- 


216  MY  AUNT  BETSY. 

tion  to  a  still  lower  grade,  when  he  should  have 
directed  his  pride  to  the  emulation  of  those  who,  as 
the  world  goes,  are  held  above  him. 

A  recollection  of  my  Aunt  Betsy  draws  from  me 
these  remarks.  Each  and  every  Sunday  it  was  her 
custom  to  repair,  with  a  precise  housekeeper  of  a 
gentleman  with  whom  we  boarded,  to  Baltimore  to 
church.  We  were  spending  the  summer  months  in 
the  country.  She  was  a  rigid  Presbyterian,  and 
was  fond  of  doctrinal  points  ;  and  to  the  ministry 
of  the  Rev.  William  Duncan,  who  then  was  of  the 
old  side,  she  delighted  to  devote  herself.  I  know 
not  whether  that  minister's  more  liberal  opinions, 
which  he  teaches  now,  would  be  subscribed  to  by 
her,  but  I  think  not.  The  only  place  of  worship 
in  our  country  neighborhood  was  a  Methodist 
meeting;  the  latitudinarian  principles  of  that  sect 
she  could  not  sanction  ;  for  latitudinarians  she  was 
pleased  to  call  them. 

Our  host,  Mr.  Stetson,  was  the  owner  of  an  old, 
shabby,  shackling  gig,  which  set  low  between  the 
shafts,  on  wooden  springs,  with  an  old  cloth  top, 
and  rattling  wheels.  To  this  vehicle,  an  old  family 
horse,  named  Samson,  halt,  and  nearly  blind,  was 
harnessed,  and,  thus  conveyed,  my  Aunt  Betsy  and 
Miss  Dalrymple  rode  to  church.  They  might  have 
ridden  to  Jericho  if  they  had  left  me  behind  them; 
but,  no,  a  stool  was  duly  placed  for  me  each  Sab- 
bath in  the  bottom  of  the  gig,  and  on  this,  nolens 


MY  AUNT  BETSY.  217 

volens,  supported  between  the  knees  of  ray  veteran 
aunt,  to  prevent  my  tumbling  out,  was  I  seated  in 
front,  with  the  bandbox  beside  me.  My  shoulders 
served  to  support  the  reins,  which  my  aunt  held  far 
apart,  one  in  each  hand.  Whenever  Samson  lag- 
ged in  his  gait,  no  whip  was  used,  but  the  reins 
were  flapped  up  and  down  on  his  back,  and  conse- 
quently on  my  shoulders. 

Meanwhile,  my  respectable  relation,  with  her 
spectacles  on  her  nose,  kept  a  sharp  look-out  for 
the  stones  and  ruts;  cautioning  Miss  Dalrymple  to 
do  likewise,  and  finding  most  unchristian  fault  with 
her  whenever  we  received  a  jolt,  if  she  did  not  re- 
ceive notice. 

"  Miss  Betsy,  there's  a  stone,"  exclaimed  Miss 
Dalrymple. 

"  Where,  where  !"  exclaimed  my  aunt. 

And  before  she  received  the  intelligence  as  to 
which  side  it  was,  up  went  the  wrheel ;  my  aunt 
screamed ;  but  we  righted  again,  though  with  a 
bounce  that  nearly  caused  the  dissolution  of  the 
vehicle. 

"  Bless  my  soul !  why  could  you  not  tell  me  on 
what  side  at  once,  Miss  Dalrymple?"  exclaimed 
my  aunt,  adjusting  her  spectacles. 

"I  couldn't  think  quick  enough,"  was  the 
reply. 

"  Think  quick  enough!  Madam,  you  can  see  be- 
yond your  nose,  can't  you  ?  Old  as  I  am,  I  can; 
19 


218  MY  AUNT  BETSY. 

but  I  can't  see  on  both  sides  at  once;  do  look  sharp 
on  your  side,  and  I'll  look  sharp  on  mine.  Willy, 
look  ahead,  for  mercy's  sake  !" 

The  mortification  I  then  experienced  of  being 
seen  by  my  playmates  in  this  condition,  brings  a 
blush  to  my  cheek  now. 

My  Aunt  Betsy  had  a  house  in  town,  which  she 
rented  out  during  our  summer  sojourn  in  the 
country,  but  she  reserved  the  privilege  of  putting 
the  gig  under  the  shed  in  the  backyard,  while  we 
went  to  church ;  a  narrow,  steep  alley  (I  forget 
the  name  of  it)  led  to  the  back  gate. 

Arrived  there,  Miss  Dalrymple  would  descend 
and  open  the  gate,  and  my  aunt  would  drive  in  ; 
unless  my  aunt's  tenant,  who  had  an  eye  to  the 
quarter  day,  and  the  indulgence  he  then  sometimes 
required,  bustled  out,  opened  the  gate,  and  let  us 
in  full  dignity  through.  Then  he  would  officiously 
conduct  us  into  the  house,  leading  me  with  one 
hand  and  carrying  the  bandbox  in  the  other.  For 
my  aunt  held  also  another  privilege,  by  tacit  con- 
sent, that  of  preparing  the  extras  of  her  toilet  in 
Mrs.  Titlum's  back  parlor,  the  wife  of  Mr.  Titlum, 
her  tenant. 

Then  the  bandbox  was  opened,  her  false  hair 
and  cap  fixed  primly  on,  and  with  care,  though 
the  church  bells  had  ceased  ringing.  All  ready  at 
last,  these  worthies   sallied  out,  stately  as  Juno's 


MY  AUNT  BETSY.  219 

bird,  between  them  leading  your  humble  servant 
to  the  tabernacle. 

This  day  of  my  eventful  story  my  aunt  had  been 
more  than  gratified  by  Mr.  Duncan's  exposition. 
She  came  forth,  leading  me  by  the  hand,  as  if  she 
thought  that  she  herself  was  entitled  to  some  credit 
for  the  sermon,  because  it  expressed  her  opinions 
so  fully,  and  she  had  such  firm  faith  in  it.  Miss 
Dalrymple,  who,  in  some  respects,  was  inclined  to 
doubt  certain  of  the  divine's  views  on  previous  oc- 
casions, was  glanced  at  triumphantly  ;  she  looked 
meek  and  mad  accordingly.  In  this  Christian 
frame  of  mind  we  reached  Titlura's. 

The  quarter  day  was  near,  and  while  my  aunt 
changed  her  cap  and  hair,  Titlum  got  the  gig  in 
readiness.  We  were  soon  seated  in  it  under  the 
shed,  Miss  Dalrymple  and  my  aunt,  the  bandbox 
and  myself.  Titlum  led  Samson  through  the  gate, 
headed  him  right,  and  so  we  started  fairly. 

It  was  an  alley  just  back  of  Calvert  street  (I 
forget,  as  I  have  said,  the  name  of  it,  though  I 
think  it  is  "  Grant  street,"  giving  the  name  of 
street  to  an  alley,  like  many  other  streets  and 
persons  taking  a  higher  style  than  they  deserve) ; 
through  this  we  emerged,  taking  our  way  along 
Market,  now  Baltimore  street,  with  the  intention  of 
passing  through  Calvert  street  by  Barnum's,  into 
Monument  Square. 

That  day,  with  masonic  and  military  honors,  one 


220  MY  AUNT  BETSY. 

of  the  soldiers  of  the  fifth  regiment,  -who  fought 
bravely  at  North  Point,  was  to  be  buried,  and  the 
military  were  parading  in  the  square.  My  aunt 
had  scarcely  turned  Samson  into  Market  street, 
when  the  music  burst  upon  her  ear,  and,  ejacu- 
lating "  Heaven  preserve  us  !"  she  tried  to  turn 
Samson  round,  but  Samson  would  not  be  turned 
round. 

"  I  should  not  be  surprised,"  exclaimed  my 
aunt,  "  if  this  abominable  violation  of  the  Sabbath 
should  cost  us  all  our  lives.  To  have  trumpets 
sounding  and  see  colors  flying  on  the  Lord's  day, 
and  we  the  innocent  to  suffer — my  gracious  !" 

My  aunt  seemed  like  Othello  in  his  agony, 
" perplexed  in  the  extreme." 

"Boy,  boy,"  she  called  out  to  a  black  boy  on 
the  pavement,  "  come  and  turn  my  horse's  head 
round." 

"  What'll  you  give  me,  old  'oman  ?" 

"  Old  woman!  why  don't  he  say  lady  ?  I'll  give 
you  a  fippenny-bit." 

My  aunt  was  economical. 

"I  axes  a  quarter,"  replied  he  dictatorially. 

"  A  quarter  !  bless  me,  this  was  not  collection 
day,  and  I  didn't  bring  any  money.  Miss  Dal- 
rymple,  did  you?" 

Miss  Dalrymple  replied  in  the  negative.  My 
aunt  said  to  the  black  fellow,  after  this  short  col- 
loquy— 


MY  AUNT  BETSY.  221 

"  Well,  my  good  boy,  you  shall  have  a  quarter 
of  a  dollar — when — " 

"  Shell  out,  old  one,"  he  repeated. 

"  I  have  not  any  change  now,  my  boy.  I'll  pay 
you  the  next  time  we  meet,"  replied  my  aunt. 

"Do  you  see  anything  green  here?"  said  the 
negro,  shutting  his  right  eye  and  pulling  down  the 
lower  lid  of  the  left  one,  until  the  whole  of  the 
white  of  it  was  exhibited.  He  stood  a  moment,  as 
if  to  give  my  respectable  relative  a  chance  of  full 
inspection,  and  then  coolly  walked  off,  saying, 
"  There  ain't  nothing  green  about  this  child,  old 
one." 

"  I  protest,"  exclaimed  my  aunt,  "if  that  boy 
belonged  to  me,  he  should  have  a  severe  whipping 
to-morrow  morning  early.  I  should  almost  be 
tempted  to  give  it  to  him  to-day,  though  it  is  Sun- 
day." 

But  the  boy  didn't  belong  to  my  aunt,  so  he 
walked  off  haw-hawing,  with  contempt,  like  one 
who  has  detected  an  impostor  in  the  act  of  defraud- 
ing him. 

"Sir,"  said  my  aunt  to  a  gentleman  who  was 
passing,  "couldn't  you  turn  my  horse  round,  if  you 
please?" 

But  no,  the  gentleman  seemed  to  think  with  the 

negro,  that  my  aunt  was  not  respectable  enough  to 

receive  that  attention.     If  she  had  been  a  damsel 

fair,  who  had  been  left  for  a  needful  moment  by 

19* 


222  MY  AUNT  BETSY. 

her  Jehu,  the  gentleman  would  have  complied  with 
most  courteous  alacrity,  but  an  old  woman,  who 
had  come  out  to  take  the  responsibility  of  her  own 
safe  conveyance,  let  her  take  it ;  and  the  gentle- 
man walked  on.  My  aunt  now  applied  her  own 
energies  to  Samson.  She  succeeded  in  turning 
him  nearly  round,  when  she  heard  the  noise  of  fife 
and  drum,  and,  looking  forth,  discovered  another 
company  coming  to  join  those  already  in  the 
square.  Her  only  chance  now  was  to  go  straight 
out  Market  street,  or  to  turn  down  Calvert  street. 
Samson  obeyed  the  rein  quickly,  which  put  him 
on  his  regular  routine,  but  he  made  an  obstinate 
stop  at  the  corner  of  Calvert  street,  determined  to 
turn  into  Monument  Square.  How  my  aunt  flap- 
ped the  reins,  declaring  that  hereafter  she  would 
drive  with  a  whip,  and  that  Miss  Dalrymple  could 
carry  it. 

The  company  behind  us  had  now  got  close  on  to 
Samson;  and  it  was  evident  that  the  unusual  pro- 
ceedings of  the  day,  on  the  part  of  my  aunt,  to- 
gether with  the  noise  and  bustle,  had  done  much  to 
ruffle  his  temper.  In  depositing  coal  in  the  cellar 
of  the  corner  house,  as  you  turn  down  Calvert 
street,  the  proprietor  had  had  a  board  laid  over  the 
curbstone  on  to  the  pavement,  to  prevent  filling 
up  the  gutter,  when  it  was  discharged  from  the 
cart;  against  this  Samson  backed,  as  if  desirous 
of  witnessing  the  display,  as  the  soldiers  passed 


MY  AUNT  BETSY.  223 

into  Monument  Square.  Thinking  himself  perhaps 
still  in  the  way,  he  backed  a  little,  and  finding 
his  progress  facilitated  by  the  plank,  he  politely 
gave  the  soldiers  the  street,  and  betook  himself  to 
the  sidewalk.  His  courtesy  my  aunt  neither  ap- 
preciated nor  approved.  Greatly  alarmed,  she 
waved  her  hand  over  the  ragamuffin  train,  who 
surrounded  the  band,  and  called  to  the  musicians 
in  earnest  expostulation  :— 

"Good  people,  do  stop  that  noise!  Don't  you  see 
what  a  condition  we  are  in,  and  you  are  breaking 
the  Sabbath?" 

What  soldier  was  ever  known  to  regard,  when 
on  duty,  the  remonstrances  of  an  old  woman  in  a 
gig,  with  another  of  her  sex  and  a  child  ?  No, 
though  only  on  parade,  they  never  play  soldiers, 
and  if  all  the  old  women  and  children  in  the  world 
were  to  be  killed  by  frightened  horses,  that  would 
not  abate  their  martial  sounds. 

The  crowd  of  boys,  when  they  beheld  Samson, 
and  the  gig,  and  all  the  et  ceteras,  and  saw  my 
aunt's  gesture  of  expostulation,  though  many  of 
them  could  not  hear  what  she  said,  burst  into  a 
yell  of  derision.  One  stout  fellow,  who  was  on  the 
sidewalk,  following  the  band  close  in  the  press, 
feeling  valiant  from  the  martial  strains  which 
rang  in  his  ears,  elevated  a  long  lath,  which 
he  carried  in  his  hand  by  wray  of  soldiership, 
and   smote    Samson   prodigiously.     This   Samson 


224  MY  AUNT  BETSY. 

could  not  brook  ;  the  music  had  made  him  martial 
too,  and  it  was  evident  that,  like  his  great  name- 
sake among  the  Philistines,  he  was  determined  on 
revenge  ;  for  no  sooner  did  the  boy  strike  him, 
than  he  charged  at  once  into  the  very  band  of 
music.  The  sound  the  soldier  loves  died  upon 
their  ears  instantly — and  well  it  might.  The  fifer 
started  back  in  such  haste  from  the  advancing 
Samson,  as  to  overturn  the  drummer,  who  fell 
flat  with  his  drum-band  around  his  neck,  and,  be- 
fore he  could  recover  himself,  Samson's  left  leg 
was  knee-deep  through  his  drum-head  ;  whereby 
he  held  the  musician  prostrate,  as  one  antagonist 
would  hold  another  by  his  neckcloth.  The  slide 
of  the  trombone  seemed  to  have  the  power  of 
engulfing  the  whole  of  it,  for  Samson's  head 
struck  the  trombone,  and  it  disappeared  in  the 
player's  mouth.  The  man  who  played  the  serpent 
was  nearly  made  a  victim  to  it,  as  were  our  first 
parents — 

"  In  Adam's  fall 
We  sinned  all." 

He  was  a  short,  duck-legged  individual,  and 
wore  the  serpent,  not  exactly  folded  around  him, 
but  buckled  on.  It  caught  in  the  wheel,  and  held 
him  there  as  the  boa-constrictor  twines  part  of  its 
body  around  the  tree,  and  part  around  its  victim. 
The  drum,  however,  saved  the  musician,  though 


MY  AUNT  BETSY.  225 

it  nearly  ruined  us.  As  Samson  raised  bis  drum- 
incurabered  foot  to  advance,  he  stumbled  flat  to 
earth,  thereby  ejecting  my  aunt  upon  the  drum- 
mer. Miss  Dalrymple  into  the  embrace  of  the  ser- 
pent, or  rather  the  serpentine  man,  and  myself 
and  the  violated  bandbox  and  its  contents  into 
the  street.  The  last  thing  that  I  remember,  was 
the  infernal  yell  of  the  ragamuffins,  which  rent 
the  air  at  this  catastrophe. 

I  do  not  know  what  my  aunt  would  have  done, 
if  Mr.  Titlum  had  not  rushed  to  her  assistance. 
He  was  fond  of  martial  sounds,  and,  after  helping 
us  into  the  gig,  he  had  scarcely  entered  his  house, 
when  the  "  stirring  music  of  the  drum"  reached 
his  ear.  Desirous  of  witnessing  the  display,  he 
passed  out  of  his  front  door  into  Calvert  street,  and 
then  to  the  corner.  He  was  just  in  time  to  witness 
Samson's  charge,  and  was  the  first  to  raise  my 
aunt.  On  finding  she  was  not  hurt,  with  much 
delicacy  he  handed  to  her  her  cap,  wig,  and  bon- 
net, which  had  escaped  from  her  respectable  person 
in  the  foul  grasp  of  the  drummer,  who  caught,  in 
his  terror,  at  he  knew  not  what.  Miss  Dalrymple, 
unhurt,  indignantly  disengaged  herself  from  the 
embrace  of  the  serpent.  I  must  do  my  aunt  the 
justice  to  say,  that  I  believe,  before  she  ever 
thought  of  the  predicament  in  which  she  stood, 
she  looked  around  after  me — a  glance  showed  her 
that  I  was  unhurt,  for  I  was  on  my  feet  endeavor- 


226  MY  AUNT  BETSY. 

ing  to  secure  her  false  curls  and  cap  from  a  black 
fellow  who  had  seized  them.  I  was,  however,  un- 
successful ;  for  he  made  his  escape  in  the  melee. 

All  this  while  the  soldiers  were  at  a  dead  halt, 
stamping  their  feet  with  impatience,  while  those 
behind  pressed  front  to  learn  the  cause  of  the  de- 
lay. The  captain,  in  the  confusion,  had  his  coat 
skirts  cut  off  by  some  dexterous  pickpocket.  As  he 
was  just  behind  the  band,  he  was  in  the  midst  of  the 
confusion,  and  a  respect  for  the  corps  made  him 
forgetful  of  all  personal  consequences  ;  so  it  was 
easily  done.  But  when  it  was  done,  he  felt  that 
although,  in  the  tented  field,  'mid  battle  and  blood, 
if  the  foeman's  bullet  had  deprived  him  of  his  skirts, 
he  could  have  fought  only  the  more  valiantly  ; 
yet,  considering  the  manner  of  the  loss,  and  that 
the  crowd  had  ceased  to  admire  him,  and  were 
giving  evidences  of, a  contrary  nature,  and  also 
considering  the  trombone  man,  the  drummer,  and 
he  of  the  serpent,  were  disabled,  therefore  it  was 
both  proper  and  dignified  that  on  the  spot  he 
should  dismiss  his  company,  which  he  forthwith 
did.  He  instantly  retreated  into  a  neighboring 
store,  from  the  secluded  backroom  of  which  he 
sent  for  his  citizen's  dress,  and  with  much  meek- 
ness repaired  to  his  own  domicil. 

It  might,  therefore,  be  admitted,  that  Samson 
won  the  day.  In  confirmation  of  this  remark,  it 
may  be  stated  that,  in  consequence  of  the  ridicule 


MY  AUNT  BETSY.  227 

growing  out  of  this  contest,  the  captain  resigned 
his  command,  under  pretence  of  a  press  of  busi- 
ness, and  the  company  disbanded  themselves,  and 
many  of  them  entered  different  volunteer  corps. 

But  the  matter  did  not  stop  here  with  Aunt 
Betsy.  The  drummer  sued  for  the  damage  done 
to  his  drum,  and  also  for  an  injury  he  had  sus- 
tained by  twisting  his  ankle  under  him  as  he  fell, 
and  spraining  his  wrist  ;  asserting  that,  thereby,  as 
a  drummer,  his  occupation  was  ruined;  for  should 
his  wrist  get  well,  of  which  there  was  little 
prospect,  his  occupation  was  gone  should  any  com- 
pany to  which  he  might  be  attached  choose  to  take 
a  long  parade.  He  of  the  serpent  sued  my  aunt 
for  the  damage  done  his  serpent,  and  Miss  Dal- 
rymple  for  divers  and  sundry  contusions  and 
bruises,  then  and  there  received  on  various  parts  of 
his  person;  and  the  trombone  man  brought  suit, 
not  only  for  the  utter  annihilation  of  his  instru- 
ment, but  for  the  loss  of  three  front  teeth,  which, 
he  asserted,  not  only  disabled  him  from  playing 
with  anything  like  his  former  proficiency,  but 
which  would,  in  all  probability,  shorten  his  life, 
from  the  fact  that  his  digestion  was  delicate  in  the 
extreme,  that  his  food  had  always  required  more 
mastication  than  he  could  bestow  upon  it,  and  now 
he  would  scarcely  be  able  to  masticate  at  all. 

The   captain  magnanimously   refused    to  bring 
suit  against  my  aunt  for  the  loss  of  his   skirts, 


228  MY  AUNT  BETSY. 

although  a  distinguished  lawyer  gave  it  as  his  de- 
cided opinion,  that  he  was  entitled  to  recover  ; 
because,  although  a  pickpocket  was  the  immediate 
cause  of  the  loss  aforesaid,  yet  the  captain  would 
not  have  sustained  the  loss,  had  it  not  been  for  the 
confusion  occasioned  by  my  aunt's  want  of  control 
over  the  horse,  and  that,  therefore,  the  captain 
was  entitled  to  recover  consequential  damages. 

These  suits  excited  an  interest  at  the  time,  which 
has  not  entirely  died  away  yet.  When  the  cause 
came  up,  my  aunt's  lawyers  denied  that  there  was 
any  ground  of  action  at  all,  but  the  judge,  without 
hearing  the  other  side,  declared  there  was.  He 
said,  that  if  a  man  let  loose  a  wild  bull,  which  he 
knew  to  be  wild,  though  he  intended  no  mischief 
by  it,  yet  he  was  liable  for  what  damages  the  bull 
might  do,  because  he  ought  to  have  informed  him- 
self of  the  nature  of  the  beast  before  he  threw 
him  upon  the  community.  The  question  would  arise, 
the  judge  said,  was  my  aunt  capable  of  driving  ? 
If  she  was,  did  her  near-sightedness  prevent  her  ? 
Could  she  with  a  child  at  her  knees  and  a  band- 
box at  her  feet,  drive  safely  through  a  crowd  like 
that  assembled  on  the  occasion  aforesaid  ?  The 
judge,  in  conclusion,  remarked,  "  that  he  did  not 
mean  to  prejudge  the  case,  but  that  it  was  clear  to 
his  mind,  not  only  that  there  were  grounds  of 
action  in  the  case,  but  also  that  the  defendant 
must  show,  conclusively,  that  she  was  capable  of 


MY  AUNT  BETSY.  229 

driving;  for,  said  he,  this  court  never  will  sanction 
the  doctrine  that  any  old  lady,  however  respect- 
able, may  be  allowed,  whether  she  can  see  or  not, 
or  whether  she  can  drive  or  not,  to  start  off  on  the 
Sabbath  to  church,  with  a  feeble  child  between  her 
knees,  and  a  helpless  woman  beside  her,  and  cause 
the  great  injury  which  it  appears  from  the  amount 
of  damages  claimed  in  this  case  has  been  done  ; 
men  are  not  to  be  ruined  in  their  professions,  and 
their  health  irrecoverably  impaired  in  this  way, 
without  a  court  of  justice  interfering  and  making 
the  party  guilty  pay  for  it." 

All  legal  readers  are  familiar  with  the  case  of 
"  The  Musicians  vs.  Betsy  Hugersford,"  in  the 
Maryland  Reports.  It  twice  got  up  to  the  Court 
of  Appeals,  and  twice  got  back  again,  upon  some 
informality.  Then  it  was  delayed  for  years,  while 
a  commission  to  take  depositions  was  sent  to  New 
Orleans,  and  even  to  France  and  to  England,  to 
which  countries  several  of  the  witnesses  (we  know 
that  musicians  are  migratory)  had  emigrated. 

The  day  before  the  case  was  to  be  finally  tried 
upon  its  merits,  the  three  musicians — the  drummer, 
the  trombone,  and  the  serpent — went  on  a  party  of 
pleasure  with  many  others,  on  board  of  a  steam- 
boat, to  Fort  McIIenry.  After  the  bottle  had  cir- 
culated briskly,  it  was  proposed  that  each  of  the 
musicians  should  take  the  respective  instrument 
upon  which  he  had  formerly  played  (for  since  that 
20 


230  MY  AUNT  BETSY. 

eventful  day  of  parade  they  had  asserted  they 
were  disabled),  and  try  how  much  skill  was  left  in 
them.  In  the  hilarity  of  the  moment,  unsuspicious 
of  consequences,  they  consented ;  and  it  was  as- 
serted by  all,  and  particularly  by  the  band  of  mu- 
sicians on  board,  in  their  depositions,  taken  that 
night,  that  they  never  heard  better  playing. 

The  whole  proceeding  was  a  trick  of  a  young 
lawyer,  who  had  been  taken  by  accident  into 
the  case.  He  was  well  acquainted  with  the 
three  musicians,  and  had  got  them  on  the  frolic 
for  the  purpose  of  showing  by  witnesses  that  they 
were  as  good  players  as  ever,  and,  consequently, 
had  sustained  no  injury. 

Since  the  parade,  the  trombone  had  kept  a  tavern, 
the  drummer  an  oyster-cellar,  and  the  serpent  a 
public  garden;  and  in  consequence  of  the  great  in- 
jury which  the  criminal  negligence  of  my  aunt  had 
inflicted  on  them,  they  were  each  extensively 
patronized  by  a  sympathizing  public. 

In  the  morning,  when  the  suit  was  called  in 
court,  the  plaintiffs'  counsel,  who  had  got  wind  of 
the  depositions,  and  who  considered  that  the  wit- 
nesses were  forthcoming,  reluctantly  dropped  the 
suit,  to  prevent  the  accumulation  of  costs,  which  he 
felt  his  clients  would  have  to  pay.  But  a  short 
time  afterwards,  when  the  band  above  mentioned, 
who  were  of  the  military,  had  been  ordered  to 
Florida,  the   suit  was  commenced  again,  their  ex 


MY  AUNT  BETSY.  231 

parte  depositions  amounting  to  nothing ;  and  they 
themselves  being  without  the  jurisdiction  of  the 
court,  and  not  likely  ever  to  return  to  Baltimore 
again. 

This  case  was  pending  when  my  aunt  died,  and 
the  question  is  now  agitating  the  lawyers,  whether 
her  heirs  could  be  made  parties  to  a  new  suit. 

Notwithstanding  all  the  trouble  this  business 
gave  my  poor  aunt,  I  confess  it  was  a  great  satis- 
faction to  me,  as  it  put  an  end  to  our  gig  rides 
thereafter. 


MARY  M'INTYRE  HAS  ARRIVED. 


Ox  my  way  to  St.  Louis,  safe  and  sound  I  ar- 
rived at  Louisville  on  the  steamer  Madison,  now 
years  agone.  The  falls  of  the  Ohio,  at  Louisville, 
were  so  low,  that  the  captain  resolved  to  go  round 
by  the  canal,  which  was  cut  to  obviate  the  neces- 
sity of  unloading  vessels  to  lighten  them,  so  as  to 
permit  their  passage  over  the  falls.  At  ten  o'clock 
A.  M.,  we  reached  Louisville,  and  the  captain  told 
me,  upon  inquiry,  as  I  wished  to  pay  my  respects 
to  a  friend  or  two  of  that  hospitable  city,  that  the 
boat  would  not  leave  until  one  o'clock,  as  he  had 
to  take  on  board  a  number  of  Scotch  immigrants 
with  their  baggage,  who  had  been  brought  thus  far 
from  Pittsburg  on  a  boat  that  was  returning.  I 
therefore  had  ample  time  to  make  a  morning  call 
or  two  in  passing,  a  pleasure  of  which  I  generally 
avail  myself  on  our  Western  waters,  whenever  the 
boat  on  which  I  happen  to  be  a  wayfarer  stops 
where  I  have  acquaintances. 


MARY  M'INTYRE  HAS  ARRIVED.  233 

I  resolved  to  pay  my  respects  to  "  Amelia,''  the 
sweetest  poetess  of  our  land,  in  whose  society  I 
spent  a  most  agreeable  hour,  which  I  would  wil- 
lingly have  prolonged,  but  the  admonition,  that  the 
boat  started  at  one  o'clock,  arose  to  my  memory. 

I  therefore  repaired  to  the  wharf  half  an  hour 
before  one,  determined  to  be  in  time.  Lo  !  as  I 
approached  the  wharf,  I  beheld  the  Madison  lum- 
bering along  in  the  canal,  stopping  every  moment, 
as  if  to  take  breath,  being,  in  fact,  retarded  by 
some  obstacle  or  other,  which  she  could  not  sur- 
mount without  the  aid  of  poles,  and  ropes,  and  a 
fresh  start. 

My  only  remedy  was  to  ride  round  to  Lockport, 
where  the  canal  terminates  by  passing  into  the 
river,  and  wait  an  indefinite  period  for  the  arrival 
of  the  steamer,  or  get  on  board  a  row-boat,  and 
have  myself  transported  after  her  in  the  canal, 
and  thus  reach  her,  which  I  was  assured  could  be 
effected  in  half  an  hour  at  farthest. 

I  accordingly  feed  two  youths,  who  were  pad- 
dling about  in  a  boat,  to  convey  me  to  the  Madison. 
I  was  soon  seated  astern,  and  they  pulled  away 
for  the  steamer.  We  soon  entered  the  canal,  but 
owing  to  the  waves  the  steamer  threw  in  her  con- 
fined track,  and  her  lumbering  movements  from 
side  to  side,  it  was  with  difficulty  and  delay  that 
we  approached  her. 

The  Scotch  immigrants  were  what  are  called 
20* 


234  MARY  m'intyke  has  arrived. 

on  the  "Western  waters,  deck-passengers  ;  of  that 
class,  almost  all  of  whom  are  poor,  but  often  very 
respectable,  who,  in  the  packet-ships,  in  crossing 
the  Atlantic,  take  a  steerage  passage.  Among 
the  immigrants  on  the  Madison,  were  many 
females,  among  whom  there  were  some  young  and 
beautiful  ones. 

As  I  ripped  out  a  strong  Western  oath  (I  am 
ashamed  to  write  it,  for  I  have  not  pronounced  one 
for  a  long  time)  at  the  captain,  for  breaking  his 
word  with  me,  and  leaving  before  the  hour,  one  of 
the  Scotch  lasses  said  to  me  imploringly,  for  our 
boat  had  gotten  immediately  under  the  stern  of 
the  steamer,  where  she  stood — 

"  Oh  !  sir,  please  don't  swear  so." 

Struck  with  the  tone  and  beauty  of  the  Scotch 
maiden,  my  impulse  of  anger  changed  to  one  of 
admiration,  and  I  instantly  said  to  her — 

"  Well,  I  won't  again  ;  and  you  must  be  like 
Sterne's  angel,  when  my  uncle  Toby  swore  ;  you 
must  drop  a  tear  upon  the  word  in  the  high 
archives,  and  blot  it  out  forever." 

As  I  said  this,  I  stretched  out  my  hand  to  reach 
the  railing  of  the  steamer,  but  failed,  as  our  boat 
gave  a  lurch  at  the  moment.  '  Again  I  made  the 
effort,  and  should  have  failed  again,  had  not  the 
pretty  Scotch  girl  leaned  over  the  vessel's  side  and 
given  me  her  hand.  Thus  assisted,  in  a  moment 
more  I  was  on  the  steamer's  deck,  beside  my  fair 


MARY  M'lNTYRE  HAS  ARRIVED.  235 

assistant.  I  thanked  her  with  all  the  grace  I  could 
master,  which  she  received  with  a  blush,  and  said  : 

"But  you  forget,  sir,  that  my  uncle  Toby's  oath 
was  to  save  life." 

"But  it  was  unavailing,"  I  replied;  "yet  your 
fair  hand,  stretched  out  to  me,  may  have  saved 
mine;  therefore,  as  I  live  and  may  err— 

"Nymph,  in  thy  orisons 
Be  all  my  sins  remembered.'7 

"Poor  Ophelia,"  ejaculated  the  Scotch  girl, 
sadly,  "  she  went  crazy  for  love." 

"  Ah,"  thought  I,  "  here  is  intelligence  as  well 
as  beauty  taking  a  deck  passage,  and  not  the 
first  time ;  for  with  poverty  they  have  been  com- 
panions before ;  and  love,  too,  I  suspect,  is  no 
stranger  in  this  party." 

Impressed  with  these  reflections,  I  entered  into 
conversation  with  my  new-made  acquaintance,  and 
soon  discovered  that  she  was  remarkably  intelli- 
gent, as  well  as  beautiful.  It  seemed  to  me  that 
fair  hair  was  never  braided  over  a  fairer  brow.  Her 
neck  and  shoulders  were  exquisitely  turned,  and 
added  to  the  charm  of  features,  which  were  de- 
cidedly patrician.  There  was  a  naivete  in  her  man- 
ner, too,  that  had  caught  its  tone  from  a  position, 
I  thought,  evidently  above  her  present  one.  She 
had  also  nothing  of  the  Scotch  in  her  accent,  which 
was  broad  enough  on  the  lips  of  her  companions. 


236  MARY  m'intyre  has  arrived. 

Though  she  was  apparently  poor,  there  was  not 
only  great  neatness  in  her  humble  toilet,  but  a 
style  that  was  above  the  "  clay  biggin.''  Several 
little  trinkets  upon  her  person — a  ring,  breastpin, 
and  particularly  a  massive  gold  cross,  attached 
to  a  handsome  chain — attracted  my  attention, 
and  indicated,  not  only  from  their  value,  but 
the  manner  in  which  they  were  worn,  her  supe- 
riority to  her  companions,  as  well  as  the  fact,  to 
my  mind,  that  she  was  a  Roman  Catholic.  Her 
companions  were  rigid  Presbyterians,  I  soon 
learned ;  and  my  fair  assistant  into  the^boat,  and 
reprover,  did  not  attend,  I  observed,  when  an  old 
Scotchman,  in  the  afternoon,  read  the  Bible  to  the 
group  of  immigrants  gathered  about  him;  but 
withdrew  to  the  side  of  the  boat,  and  looked  over, 
pensively,  into  the  water. 

She  interested  me  much.  Being  myself,  at  that 
time,  the  wearer  of  a  large  pair  of  whiskers,  and 
an  imperial  to  match, "my  humble  travelling  com- 
panions were  rather  shy  of  me;  but  soon  observing 
that  my  fellow-passengers  above  stairs  knew  me 
well,  and  that  I  was  not  unpopular  among  them, 
the  Scotch  folks  grew  rapidly  familiar  and  frank 
with  me. 

I  learned,  from  a  solemn  and  remarkably  pious 
old  Presbyterian,  the  history  of  the  beautiful 
Scotch  girl,  whose  name  was  Mary  M'Intyre.  He 
sighed  heavily  when  he  told  it.     Her  father  was 


MARY  M'lNTYRE  HAS  ARRIVED.  237 

an  humble  farmer  of  the  better  sort,  and  lived  in 
Ayrshire.  An  old  Roman  Catholic  nobleman,  who 
dwelt  in  Edinburgh,  had  a  daughter,  who,  on  a 
visit  which  she  made  to  Ayrshire,  became  ac- 
quainted with  Mary,  and  treated  her  as  an  humble 
friend.  When  the  young  lady  returned  to  Edin- 
burgh, she  took  Mary  with  her,  who  was  affianced 
to  a  young  miller  in  the  neighborhood,  named 
M'Clung.  In  fulfilment  of  an  old  Scotch  cus- 
tom, which  Burns  and  his  Highland  Mary  prac- 
tised, they  at  parting  broke  a  piece  of  silver  over 
a  running  brook,  and  on  a  Bible  plighted  their 
everlasting  faith  unto  each  other. 

In  the  progress  of  events,  Mary,  to  the  horror 
of  her  lover's  faith,  became  a  Roman  Catholic. 
Her  lover  wrote  her  what  she  thought  a  harsh  and 
uncalled  for  letter  on  the  subject.  Her  maiden 
pride,  as  well  as  her  religious  prejudices,  were 
aroused,  and  she  returned  him  his  letter  without  a 
word  of  comment.  Both  were  stung  to  the  quick. 
The  lover,  though  he  went  to  Edinburgh,  left  for 
the  United  States  without  calling  to  see  her,  and 
wandered  away  up  the  Missouri  River.  Mary  grew 
thin  and  absent-minded;  and  exhibited  all  the 
symptoms  of  a  maiden  sick  for  love.  Three  years 
passed;  Mary's  friend  had  died ;  and  she  had  re- 
turned to  her  father's,  the  while  wasting  away; 
when,  lo,  a  package  came  from  the  far  Western 
wilds,  from  Mary's  lover. 


238  MARY  MCINTYRE  has  arrived. 

He  implored  her  to  forgive  him  for  his  conduct 
to  her,  in  the  humblest  terms;  and  in  the  strongest 
terms  he  expressed  the  endurance  of  his  passionate 
love.  He  stated  that  he  had  thought  of  nothing 
else  but  Mary  since  he  left  Scotland;  that  knowing 
every  Sunday  that  she  was  worshipping  in  the 
Catholic  Church,  he  went  to  one  himself,  that  he 
might  worship  with  her,  and  that  he  had  become 
a  Catholic,  and  sent  her  the  antique  cross  she  wore, 
in  testimony  of  his  love  and  of  his  faith.  He 
furthermore  told  Mary  that  he  was  doing  well  in 
the  New  World;  that  if  she  said  so,  he  would  go  for 
her,  but  that  it  would  ruin  his  business  (he  was  a 
true  Scotchman);  and  he  concluded  by  begging 
Mary  to  come  to  him.  These  immigrants  were  on 
the  point  of  leaving  Scotland;  many  of  them  were 
Mary's  especial  friends,  and  she  determined  to 
embark  with  them. 

How  I  felt  interested  in  that  Scotch  girl!  In 
proud  saloons  since,  in  gay  and  wild  Washington, 
I  have  many  a  time  and  oft  felt  all  the  impulses  of 
my  fitful  and  wayward  nature  aroused  and  con- 
centrated to  please  some  dark-eyed  one  from  the 
sunny  South,  or  some  fair  descendant  of  the  Pu- 
ritans, or  may  be,  some  dame  of  high  degree  from 
over  the  waters,  cynosures  of  fashion  in  the  capi- 
tal; but  remember  I  not  women  yet,  who  more 
struck  my  fancy  than  this  bonnie  lassie  from  the 
land  of  Burns.     She  could  tell  me  so  many  things 


MARY  M'INTYRE  HAS  ARRIVED.  239 

traditional  in  Ayrshire  about  Burns  and  his  birth- 
place; and  then  she  admired  him  so  much,  and 
could  sing  his  songs  so  well.  We  had  a  long  pas- 
sage, and  she  kept  herself  aloof  from  the  other 
passengers;  I  was  all  day  and  half  the  night  by 
her  side.  She  half  made  me  a  Catholic.  I  have 
since  with  uncertain  steps  and  some  short-comings, 
been  trying  to  fix  my  conduct  where  my  firm  faith, 
and  hope,  and  heart  are  fixed,  in  the  simpler  ways 
of  Protestantism  ;  and  I  know  that  Mary  will  think 
none  the  less  of  me  when  she  sees  this  avowal ;  but 
then  I  was  careless  of  everything  but  the  enjoy- 
ment of  the  hour  that  was  passing  over  me.  It 
was  just  this  time  of  the  year  (May),  and  the  beau- 
tiful Ohio  never  was  more  beautiful.  How  many 
simple  and  frank  questions  she  asked  me !  And  as 
she  did  not  know  that  I  knew  her  secret,  I  could 
so  plainly  trace  in  all  her  thoughts  the  image  of  her 
lover  the  controlling  one,  as  the  bright  moon  above 
us  was  the  controlling  light.  Several  times,  when 
she  knew  not  that  I  observed  her,  I  witnessed  her 
devotions ;  and  I  thought,  as  I  saw  her  clasp  the 
crucifix,  her  lover's  gift,  and  pray,  that  some 
earthly  adoration  mingled  with  her  heavenly  vows. 

One  day,  as  we  sat  chatting  together  with  more 
than  usual  unreservedness,  I  observed — 

"  Well,  you  will  soon  marry  some  rich  Ameri- 
can." 

"No, "    she   instantly    replied;    "I    prefer   a 


240  MARY  M'INTYRE  HAS  ARRIVED. 

poor  Scotchman."  I  must  have  felt  a  pang  of 
jealousy  of  her  lover  at  the  time,  for  I  remarked  : 

"  Mary,  you  have  asked  me  what  I  thought  was 
the  difference  between  a  Scotch  woman  and  an 
American  ;  I  will  tell  you  :  an  American  would 
make  her  lover  come  to  her  ;  a  Scotch  woman, 
as  you  know,  would  come  to  her  lover." 

Her  brow  and  bosom  crimsoned  in  an  instant, 
and  rising  from  my  side,  she  looked  at  me  and  said: 

"  Sir,  you  have  no  right  so  to  wound  a  lonely 
woman's  heart,"  and  bursting  into  tears,  she 
walked  away  from  me. 

Whatever  may  have  been  my  misunderstandings 
with  men,  and  they  have  been  few,  I  certainly 
never  had  one  with  a  woman ;  and  my  uncourteous 
and  uncalled  for  remark  stung  my  own  pride  as  a 
gentleman,  as  much  as  I  had  wounded  Mary's 
womanly  nature.  I  instantly  followed  her,  and  used 
every  effort  to  reconcile  her,  but  without  effect. 
She  walked  away  from  me  with  a  haughty  incli- 
nation of  the  head,  and  entered  her  humble 
apartment. 

I  learned  that  one  of  her  chief  objections  to  her 
voyage,  was  this  coming  to  her  lover,  instead  of 
with  him.  Her  refined  education  had  taught  her 
this  refinement  of  womanly  delicacy.  I  could  not 
forgive  myself  for  the  wound  I  had  inflicted  on 
Mary's  feelings,  and  I  soon  began  to  feel  that  I 
should  not  forgive  her  for  her  want  of  forgiveness. 


MARY  M'INTYRE  HAS  ARRIVED.  241 

At  last  we  approached  a  point,  not  far  below 
St.  Louis,  near  by  Jefferson  Barracks,  where  the 
Scotch  immigrants  were  to  debark,  and  they  were 
all  bustle  and  preparation.  I  sat  smoking  a  cigar 
on  the  guards,  and  watching  them.  Mary,  in  the 
certainty  of  meeting  her  lover,  was,  with  a  natural 
anxiety,  practising  all  the  arts  of  the  toilet  to 
make  her  scanty  wardrobe  do  its  best.  I  could 
see  her  arranging  her  hair  and  shawl,  and  consult- 
ing one  of  the  Scotch  girls  as  to  their  adjustment, 
whose  opinion,  but  for  her  own  anxiety,  she  would 
have  disregarded.  Doubtless,  she  often  thought, 
years  may  have  changed  me  much  ;  and  he,  how 
he  will  be  disappointed  !  She  may  have  fancied 
that  her  very  education,  which  gave  her  a  different 
air  and  manner  from  what  she  had  when  he  wooed 
her,  might  make  an  unfavorable  impression  upon 
him. 

I  never  in  my  life  thought  I  could  easier  read 
a  woman's  feelings. 

At  last  we  reached  the  point  of  the  pilgrims' 
rest,  and  the  boat  rounded  to ;  but,  when  they 
landed,  Mary's  lover  was  not  there  !  She  seemed 
stupefied ;  and  the  others  were  so  busied  with 
themselves  and  their  own  concerns,  that  they 
thought  not  of  Mary  or  her  lover. 

She  took  a  seat  on  her  trunk  on  the  shore 
amidst  the  baggage,  which  the  immigrants  were 
getting  off,  and  looked  the  very  picture  of  despair, 
21 


242  MARY  M'INTYRE  HAS  ARRIVED. 

as,  with  her  hands  clasped  in  her  lap,  she  gazed 
now  here,  now  there,  as  if  she  thought  that  from 
some  point  or  other  he  must  come.  But  he  came 
not. 

My  provocation  at  Mary  for  her  unforgiveness 
was  gone.  I  arose  from  the  guards  of  the  boat, 
threw  my  cigar  overboard,  and  went  ashore.  I 
had  often  been  at  this  point  on  pleasure  excursions 
from  St.  Louis,  and  I  saw  several  persons  that  I 
knew.  I  went  up  to  a  young  Frenchman,  whose 
employment  was  carting  wood  to  St.  Louis,  and 
after  a  profusion  of  compliments  between  us,  for 
he  was  an  old  acquaintance,  I  asked  him  if  he 
knew  a  Scotchman  named  M'Clung,  a  miller,  in 
the  neighborhood  ? 

"  Well,  monsieur — ah,  well." 

"  How  far  from  here  does  he  live  ?"    I  asked. 

"  Ah,  about  two  mile." 

"  I  will  give  you  a  five  dollar  gold  piece,  if  you 
will  mount  a  fleet  horse  and  go  to  him,  and  tell 
him  that  the  Scotch  immigrants  have  arrived,"  and 
I  showed  the  glittering  coin. 

"  Instanter,  monsieur,"  he  replied,  with  a 
dancing  eye. 

"  Stop  !"  I  exclaimed ;  and  taking  one  of  my 
cards  from  my  pocket,  I  wrote  on  it  with  pen  and 
ink,  which  he  got  for  me  from  the  boat,  the  simple 
words,  "Mary  M'Intyre  has  arrived." 

I  saw  my  Frenchman  in  a  few  minutes  more  at 


MARY  M'lNTYRE  HAS  ARRIVED.  243 

the  top  of  his  speed,  on  a  Canadian  pony,  dashing 
like  mad  through  the  'woods.  As  I  walked  towards 
the  boat,  I  met  Mary's  eye;  but  she  instantly 
averted  it,  as  if  she  thought  I  was  taking  pleasure 
in  her  grief  at  not  finding  on  the  spot,  to  wel- 
come her,  the  lover  she  had  "  come  to."  What 
strange  creatures  we  are  !  I  felt  a  proud  thrill 
through  my  heart.  No,  my  bonnie  lassie,  thought 
I,  I'll  have  a  braver  revenge  upon  you  than  that; 
you  shall  forgive  me. 

Time  flew  on — the  baggage  was  all  landed  ;  we 
were  preparing  to  depart,  when  some  one  ex- 
claimed— 

"  Look  yonder  !  there's  some  chaps  coming  to 
the  boat,  or  else  they're  racing  it,  for  they've  got 
all  steam  on." 

We  looked,  and,  sure  enough,  two  horsemen  were 
bounding  towards  us,  as  if  with  such  intent,  and 
one  was  my  Frenchman,  so  I  supposed,  the  other 
was  M'Clung  ;  and  I  soon  knew  it,  for  I  could 
see  his  miller's  clothes. 

The  whole  boat  was  excitement,  and  the  captain 
ordered  delay  for  a  moment  till  they  should  arrive, 
not  knowing  what  their  eager  haste  meant.  I  un- 
derstood it ;  M'Clung  was  thinking  of  his  Mary 
M'Intyre,  and  the  Frenchman  of  his  five  dollar 
gold  piece. 

"  They  come  on  bravely,"  was  the  cry. 


244  MARY  m'intyre  has  arrived. 

"Yes,  and  the  miller  is  ahead!"  exclaimed 
another. 

I  was  glad  to  see  love  ahead  of  avarice  ;  but  I 
suspect  it  was  owing  more  to  the  steeds  than  their 
riders. 

I  looked  at  Mary.  At  the  cry  "  the  miller  is 
ahead,"  she  had  risen  from  her  listless  posture, 
and  was  gazing  intently  at  the  horsemen. 

In  a  moment,  the  miller's  horse  was  bounding 
home  without  his  rider,  for  he  had  not  thought  to 
fasten  him  as  he  threw  himself  from  his  back.  He 
rushed  towards  Mary,  and  in  an  instant  they  were 
in  each  other's  arms ;  such  a  wild  embrace  of  joy 
I  never  witnessed.  I  thought  their  kindred  hearts, 
like  the  "  kindred  drops  "  of  the  poet,  would  lite- 
rally mingle  into  one. 

"Ah,  mon  dieu!"  exclaimed  the  Frenchman 
from  the  shore,  for  the  captain  had  ordered  our 
departure,  mad  at  the  delay,  and  we  had  left — "Ah, 
mon  dieu !  my  five  dollar,  dat  gold  piece.  I  am  a 
cheat."  I  stuck  it  in  an  apple,  and  threw  it  on  the 
shore,  and  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  the 
Frenchman  bound  towards  it  like  the  miller  to- 
ward Mary,  and  grasp  it,  too;  and  I  laughed  hearti- 
ly at  the  manner — so  eager,  and  yet  so  gentle, 
holding  it  between  his  compressed  legs — in  which 
he  made  the  golden  pippin  disgorge  its  truly 
golden  treasure. 

The  last  thing  which  attracted  my  attention  on 


MART  M'INTYRE  HAS  ARRIVED.  245 

the  shore  was  the  Frenchman,  who  stood  beside 
Mary  and  the  miller,  with  one  hand  restoring  the 
gold  piece  to  its  lustre  by  rubbing  it  on  his  panta- 
loons, and  in  the  other  holding  the  pippin,  from 
which  he  was  taking  large  contributions,  while  he 
gesticulated  with  that  member,  when  not  applied 
to  his  mouth,  towards  the  steamer,  evidently  trying 
to  do  a  good  many  things  at  once,  and  among  the 
rest  to  explain  who  sent  him  on  his  errand. 

Ah,  thought  I,  I  have  had  my  revenge.  Years 
after  this,  I  was  again  in  St.  Louis,  in  a  very  sickly 
summer.  Partaking,  may  be,  too  freely  of  its  hos- 
pitalities— for  I  never  saw  a  more  hospitable  people 
than  those  of  St.  Louis — and  not  being  used  to  the 
climate,  I  was  seized  with  a  bilious  fever,  in  fact,  it 
was  yellow  fever ;  I  was  in  a  boarding-house,  and 
in  a  very  confined  room,  and  the  physician  said  if 
I  could  not  be  taken  to  the  country,  I  would  die. 

I  became  unconscious.  I  awoke  one  morning  at 
last,  with  a  dreamy  impression  of  existence,  but  I 
had  not  the  slightest  conception  of  my  location.  I 
discovered  that  I  was  in  the  country  ;  and  as,  in 
the  progress  of  days,  returning  life  grew  keener,  I 
found  myself  in  a  pleasant  chamber,  and  a  lady 
attending  to  me.  She  would  not  let  me  talk  at 
first,  but  I  at  last  learned  that  I  had  been  there  a 
week,  delirious;  and,  farther,  from  a  black  servant, 
that  her  mistress  had,  without  taking  off  her 
clothes,  watched  over  me  all  the  time.  I  was  about 
21* 


246  MARY  M^INTYRE  HAS  ARRIVED. 

questioning  the  black  girl  farther,  when,  from  a 
moment's  absence,  her  mistress  returned;  and  after 
remarking  how  much  better  I  was,  asked  if  I  did 
not  know  her  ?  I  looked  at  the  beautiful  lady 
before  me,  for  she  was  indeed  beautiful,  though 
she  looked  wan,  from  her  attendance  upon  me,  I 
supposed,  and  replied— 

"  Indeed,  mj  dear  madam,  I  do  not  know  you, 
though  I  shall  never  forget  you." 

She  stepped  to  the  mantle-piece,  and  took  from 
it  a  small  richly  gilt  frame,  which  looked  as  if  it 
contained  a  miniature,  and  showing  it  to  me,  I  be- 
held within  it  my  card,  given  to  the  Frenchman  : 
"  Mary  M'Intyre  has  arrived."  Mr.  M'Clung  had 
greatly  prospered  in  the  world,  and  Mrs.  M'Clung 
was  what  she  would  have  been,  in  fact,  in  any  situa- 
tion, a  lady  in  the  land;  and  now  an  acknowledged 
and  received  lady.  She  seldom  visited  St.  Louis, 
and  when  she  did,  she  stopped  at  the  house  where 
I  was  so  ill;  and  hearing  my  name  mentioned,  and 
learning  who  I  was,  she  had  me  conveyed  to  her 
house  in  her  own  carriage,  supporting  my  uncon- 
scious head  all  the  way  herself.  Lucky  for  me  was 
this  last  arrival. 

I  may  speak  again  of  this  Scotch  lassie,  for  we 
have  met  in  other  scenes,  where,  beaming  the 
"bright  particular  star,"  fashion,  and  rank,  and 
intellect  did  her  homage. 


THE  UNSUMMONED   WITNESS. 


PART  FIRST. 


Some  years  since,  "when  I  was  in  the  practice  of 
the  law,  one  morning,  just  after  I  had  entered  my 
office — I  was  then  an  invalid  on  two  crutches,  and 
not  a  very  early  riser,  so  what  clients  I  had,  were 
often  there  before  me— some  few  moments  after  I 
had  ensconced  myself  in  my  chair  with  my  crutches 
before  me,  like  monitors  of  mortality,  I  heard  a 
timid  rap  at  my  door.  Notwithstanding  I  called 
out  in  a  loud  voice,  ''Come  in,"  the  visitor,  though 
the  rap  was  not  repeated  after  I  spoke,  still  hung 
back.  With  feelings  of  impatience  and  pain,  I 
arose,  adjusted  my  crutches  under  my  arms,  and 
muttering,  not  inaudibly,  my  discontent,  I  hobbled 
to  the  door  and  jerked  it  open. 

The  moment  the  visitor  was  presented  to  my 
vision,  I  felt  angry  with  myself  for  what  I  had 
done;  and  the  feeling  was  not  relieved,  when  a 
meek  and  grief-subdued  voice  said — 


248  THE  UNSUMMONED  WITNESS. 

"  I  am  very  sorry  to  disturb  you,  sir." 

"No,"  said  I  politely,  for  it  was  a  young  and 
beautiful  woman,  or  rather  girl,  of  certainly  not 
more  than  sixteen,  who  stood  before  me,  "  I  am 
sorry  that  you  should  have  waited  so  long.  Come 
in ;  I  am  lame  as  you  see,  Miss,  and  could  not 
sooner  get  to  the  door." 

Adjusting  her  shawl,  which  was  pinned  closely 
up  to  her  neck,  as  she  passed  the  threshold,  she 
entered,  and  at  my  request,  but  not  until  I  had 
myself  resumed  my  seat,  took  a  chair.  I  observed 
it  was  a  fine  morning,  to  which  she  made  no  reply, 
for  she  was  evidently  abstracted,  or  rather  embar- 
rassed, not  knowing  how  to  open  the  purpose  of 
her  visit. 

The  few  moments  we  sat  in  silence,  I  occupied 
in  observing  her.  She  had,  I  thought,  arrayed 
herself  in  her  best  clothes,  anxious  by  so  doing  to 
make  a  respectable  appearance  before  her  lawyer, 
and  thereby  convince  him  that  if  she  could  not  at 
present  compass  his  fee,  he  could  have  no  doubt  of 
it  eventually ;  though  it  was  also  apparent  to  me 
that,  in  the  flurry  of  mind  attendant  upon  her  visit 
and  its  consequence,  she  had  not  thought  at  all 
of  adding  to  her  personal  attractions  by  so  doing. 
That  consideration,  not  often  absent  from  a 
woman's  mind,  had  by  some  absorbing  event  been 
banished  from  hers.     She  wore  a  black-silk  gown, 


THE  UNSUMMONED  WITNESS.  249 

the  better  days  of  which  had  gone,  perhaps,  with 
the  wearer's. 

Her  timid  step  had  not  prevented  my  seeing  a 
remarkably  delicate  foot,  encased  in  a  morocco 
shoe  much  worn  and  patched,  evidently  by  an  un- 
skilful hand — I  thought  her  own.  And  though 
when  she  took  a  seat,  she  folded  her  arms  closely 
up  under  her  shawl,  which  was  a  small  one,  of  red 
merino,  and,  as  I  have  said,  pinned  closely  to  her 
neck,  it  did  not  prevent  my  observing  that  her 
hand,  though  small,  was  gloveless,  and  that  a  ring 
— I  thought  an  ominous-looking  ring — we  catch 
fancies  we  know  not  why  or  wherefore — begirt  one 
of  her  fingers.  In  fact,  when  she  first  placed  her 
hands  under  the  shawl,  she  turned  the  ring  upon 
her  finger,  maybe  unconsciously. 

On  her  head  she  wore  a  calash  bonnet;  and  as  I 
again  interrupted  the  silence  by  asking,  "  Is  it  the 
law  you  seek  so  early,  Miss  ?"  she  drew  her  hand 
from  beneath  her  shawl,  and  removing  her  bonnet 
partly  from  her  face  so  as  to  answer  me,  she  re- 
vealed as  fair  and  as  fascinating  features  as  I  ever 
remember  to  have  seen.  Her  hair  was  parted 
carelessly  back  over  a  snowy  forehead,  beneath 
which,  lustrous  eyes,  black  as  death  and  almost  as 
melancholy,  looked  forth  from  the  shadow  of  a 
weeping  willow-like  lash.  A  faint  attempt  to  smile 
at  my  question  discovered  beautiful  teeth,  and  I 
thought,  as  she   said  the  simple  "yes,  sir,"  that 


250  THE  UNSUMMONED  WITNESS. 

there  must  be  expression  in  every  movement  of 
her  lip. 

Observe,  I  was  an  invalid,  full,  at  this  very  mo- 
ment, of  the  selfishness  of  my  own  pains  and 
aches,  which,  though  not  of  the  heart,  and  it  would 
be  difficult  to  convince  a  sick  man  that  those  of 
the  body  are  not  greater,  were  notwithstanding 
forgotten  at  once  in  my  interest  in  my  visitor. 

"  This  is  Mr.  Trimble?"  asked  she,  glancing  at 
my  crutches,  as  if  by  those  appendages  she  had 
heard  me  described. 

"  That  is  my  name,"  I  replied. 

"  You  have  heard  of  Brown,  who  is  now  in — in 
jail,  sir,"  she  continued. 

"Brown,  the  counterfeiter,  who  has  been  ar- 
rested for  a  theft,"  I  asked. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  I  have  repeatedly  heard  of  him,  though  I  have 
never  seen  him." 

"  He  told  me  to  say,  sir,  wouldn't  you  go  to 
jail,  and  see  him  about  his  case?" 

Brown's  case,  from  what  I  had  heard  of  it,  was 
a  desperate  one.  Not  knowing  in  what  relation 
the  poor  girl  might  stand  to  him,  I  shrank  from 
saying  so,  though  I  feared  it  would  be  useless  for 
me  to  appear  for  him :  I  therefore  asked  her — 

"  Are  you  his  sister  ?" 

"No,  sir." 

"  His  wife  ?  " 


THE  UNSUMMONED  WITNESS.  251 

"  No,  sir,  we  are  cousins  like,  and  I  live  with 
his  mother." 

"  Ay,  is  your  name  Brown  ?" 

"No,  sir,  my  name  is  Mason — Sarah  Mason." 

"  Where's  Mrs.  Brown,  Miss  Sarah  ?"  I  asked. 

"  She's  very  sick,  sir ;  I  hurried  away  just  as 
she  got  to  sleep,  after  morning ;  I  have  walked  by 
here  very  often,  and  I  thought,  sir,  you  might 
have  business  out,  and  not  be  here  to-day — do  go 
and  see  him,  sir." 

"  Why,  Sarah,  to  speak  plainly  to  you,  I  am 
satisfied  I  can  be  of  no  service  to  him ;  he  is  a  no- 
torious character,  and  there  have  been  so  many 
outrageous  offences  lately  committed,  that  if  the 
case  is  a  strong  one,  there  will  be  little  hope  for 
the  prisoner ;  and  Brown's  case,  I  understand,  is 
very  strong.  I  am  told,  that  after  they  had  caught 
him  in  the  woods,  as  they  were  bringing  him  to 
the  city,  he  confessed  it." 

"  My !  my  !  did  he,  sir;"  exclaimed  Sarah,  start- 
ing from  her  seat  and  resuming  it  as  quickly. 

"  Yes,  I  think  I  overheard  one  of  the  constables 
say  so.  There  are  no  grounds  whatever  in  the 
case  for  me  to  defend  him  upon.  I  can  do  nothing 
for  him,  and  should  get  nothing  for  it  if  I  did." 

I  said  this  without  meaning  any  hint  to  Sarah; 
but  she  took  it  as  such,  and  replied — 

"I  have  some  little  money,  sir,  only  a  few  dol- 
lars now,"  and  she  turned  herself  aside  so  as  with 


252  THE  UNSUMMONED  WITNESS. 

delicacy  to  take  it  from  her  bosom,  "but  I  shall  have 
some  more  soon ;  I  had  some  owing  to  me  for  some 
fancy  work,  but,  when  I  went  for  it  yesterday,  to 
come  and  see  you,  they  told  me  the  storekeeper 
had  failed,  and  I've  lost  it." 

As  she  spoke,  she  held  the  money  in  her  hand, 
which  she  rested  in  her  lap,  in  a  manner  that  im- 
plied she  wished  to  offer  it  to  me,  but  feared  the 
sum  would  be  too  small,  and  a  blush — it  was  that 
of  shame  at  her  bitter  poverty — reddened  her  fore- 
head. I  could  not  but  be  struck  with  her  manner  ; 
and  as  I  looked  at  her  without  speaking  or  at- 
tempting to  take  the  money,  she  said,  after  a  mo- 
ment's pause  — 

"  It's  all  I  have  now,  sir ;  but,  indeed,  I  shall 
have  more  soon." 

"  No,  no,  keep  it,  I  do  not  want  it,"  said  I, 
smiling.  Instantly  the  thought  seemed  to  occur  to 
her,  that  I  would  not  accept  the  money  from  a 
doubt  of  its  genuineness,  as  Brown  might  have 
given  it  to  her,  and  she  said — 

"  Indeed,  sir,  it  is  good  money.  Mr.  Judah, 
who  keeps  the  clothing-store,  gave  it  to  me  last 
night.  You  may  ask  him,  sir,  if  you  don't  be- 
lieve it." 

"  Don't  believe  you !  Surely  I  believe  you. 
Brown  must  be  a  greater  scoundrel  than  even  the 
public  take  him  for,  if  he  could  involve  you  in  the 
consequences  of  his  guilt." 


THE  UNSUMMONED  WITNESS.  253 

"  Sir,  sir — indeed,  lie  never  gave  me  any  bad 
money  to  pass.  I  was  accused  of  it;  but,  indeed, 
I  never  passed  a  single  cent  that  I  thought  was 
bad." 

"  Well,  Sarah,  keep  the  money ;  do  not  for  your 
own  sake,  on  any  consideration,  pass  any  bad 
money;  go  first  and  ask  some  one  who  knows 
whether  any  money  you  have  is  good,  and  keep 
that." 

"  But,  sir,  will  you  see  him?"  asked  she  im- 
ploringly. 

"  Yes,  I  will,  and  because  you  wish  it ;  I  cannot 
go  this  morning,  I  shall  be  engaged.  This  after- 
noon I  have  some  business  at  the  court-house,  and 
I  will,  on  leaving  there,  step  over  to  the  jail." 

"  Please,  sir,  to  tell  him,"  she  said,  hesitatingly, 
"  that  they  won't  let  me  come  in  to  see  him  often. 
I  was  there  yesterday,  but  they  wouldn't  let  me 
in.  On  Sunday  they  said  they  would — not  till 
Sunday.  Please,  sir,  tell  him  that  I  will  come 
then." 

"  I  will,  Sarah,"  I  replied  ;  "  and  if  you  will  be 
at  the  jail  at  two  o'clock  this  afternoon,  I  will  con- 
trive to  have  you  see  Brown." 

She  thanked  me,  repeated  the  words  "  at  two 
o'clock,"  and  again  pressed  the  money  on  me, 
which  I  refused,  when  she  withdrew,  closing  the 
door  noiselessly  after  her. 

She  had  not  been  gone  more  than  half  an  hour, 
22 


254  THE  UNSUMMONED  WITNESS. 

when  a  gentleman  entered,  who  was  about  pur- 
chasing some  property,  and  who  wished  me,  pre- 
viously to  closing  the  bargain,  to  examine  the  title. 
He  wanted  it  done  immediately,  and  in  compliance 
with  his  request  I  forthwith  repaired  to  the  re- 
corder's office,  which  stood  beside  the  court-house. 

I  was  then  in  the  practice  of  the  law  in  Cincin- 
nati. My  office  was  two  doors  from  the  corner  of 
Main  street,  in  Front,  opposite  the  river,  where  I 
combined  the  double  duties  of  editor  of  a  daily 
paper  and  lawyer.  From  my  office  to  the  court- 
house was,  as  the  common  people  say,  a  "measured 
mile;"  and  nothing  but  the  certainty  of  the  imme- 
diate payment  of  my  fee,  in  the  then  condition  of 
my  arms  and  health  versus  pocket  (the  pocket  car- 
ried the  day,  and  it  is  only  in  such  cases  that 
empty  pockets  succeed),  nothing  but  the  considera- 
tion in  the  premises  induced  me  to  take  up  my 
crutches,  and  walk  to  the  court-house.  After  I 
had  examined  the  title,  I  determined,  as  it  would 
save  me  a  walk  in  the  afternoon,  to  step  over  to 
the  jail,  which  was  only  a  square  or  so  off,  and  see 
Brown.  I  did  so,  and  at  the  gate  of  the  jail  found, 
seated  on  a  stone  by  the  wayside,  Sarah  Mason, 
who  had  instantly  repaired  thither  from  my  office, 
resolved  to  wait  my  coming,  not  knowing,  as  she 
told  me,  but  what  I  might  be  there  before  two. 

I  entered  the  jailer's  room,  in  which  he  received 
constables,  visitors,   knaves,   previous   to  locking 


THE  UNSUMMONED  WITNESS.  255 

them  up,  lawyers,  &c,  and  handing  a  chair  to 
Sarah,  desired  him  to  bring  Brown  out  in  the  jail 
yard,  that  I  might  speak  with  him.  While  he  was 
unlocking  the  grated  door  of  the  room  in  which 
Brown  with  many  other  criminals  was  confined, 
several  of  them,  who  were  also  clients  of  mine, 
called  me  by  name,  and  made  towards  the  door, 
with  the  wish  each  of  speaking  to  me  about  his  own 
case,  perhaps  for  the  fifteenth  time.  As  soon  as 
Brown  heard  my  name,  he  called  out — 

"  Stop  !  it's  to  see  me  Mr.  Trimble  has  come ; 
here,  Jawbone  Dick,  fix  that  bit  of  a  blanket  round 
them  rusty  leg-irons,  and  let  me  shuffle  out. 
Mr.  Trimble  came  to  see  me."  Controlled  by  his 
manner — for  he  was  a  master  spirit  among  them,  as 
I  afterwards  learned — they  shrank  back,  while 
Jawbone  Dick,  a  huge  negro,  fixed  the  leg-irons, 
and  Brown  came  forth. 

He  had  a  muscular  iron  form  of  fine  propor- 
tions, though  of  short  stature.  His  face  was  intel- 
lectual, with  a  high  but  retreating  forehead,  and  a 
quick,  bold  eye.  His  mouth  was  very  large,  dis- 
playing fully,  when  he  laughed,  his  jaw-teeth; 
but  it  was  not  ill-shaped,  and  had  the  expression 
of  great  firmness,  when  in  repose,  with  that  of 
archness  and  insinuation,  generally,  when  speaking. 
He  gazed  on  me  steadily  for  an  instant,  after  he 
had  passed  the  threshold  of  the  door  into  the  pas- 
sage, as  if  he  would  understand  my  character  be- 


256  THE  UNSUMMONED  WITNESS. 

fore  he  spoke.  He  then  sainted  me  respectfully, 
and  led  the  way  into  the  backyard  of  the  jail, 
which  is  surrounded  by  a  large  wall,  to  prevent  the 
escape  of  the  prisoners,  who,  at  stated  periods,  are 
suffered  to  be  out  there  for  the  sake  of  their 
health,  and  while  their  rooms  are  undergoing  the 
operations  of  brooms  and  water.  Kicking,  as  well 
as  his  fetters  would  allow  him,  a  keg  that  stood  by 
the  outer  door  into  the  middle  of  the  yard,  Brown 
observed — 

"  Squire,  it  will  do  you  for  a  seat,  for  you  and 
I  don't  like  to  talk  too  near  to  the  wall  ;  the  pro- 
verb says,  that  i  stone  walls  have  ears,'  and  those 
about  us  have  heard  so  many  rascally  confessions 
from  the  knaves  they  have  inclosed,  that  I  don't 
like  to  intrust  them  with  even  an  innocent  man's 
story ;  'twould  be  the  first  time  they've  heard  such 
a  one,  and  they'd  misrepresent  it  into  guilt." 

The  jailer  laughed  as  he  turned  to  leave  us,  and 
said — 

"Brown,  you  ought  to  have  thought  of  that 
when  the  chaps  nabbed  you,  for  you  told  them  the 
story,  and  they  not  only  have  ears  but  tongues." 

"  Hang  them,  they  gave  me  liquor,"  exclaimed 
Brown,  as  a  fierce  expression  darkened  his  face. 
"I  don't  think  a  drunken  man's  confession  should 
be  taken,  extorted  or  not." 

As  the  jailer  turned  to  lock  up  the  yard,  with 
the  remark  to  me  of,  "  Squire,  you  can  rap  when 


THE  UNSUMMONED  WITNESS.  257 

you  have  got  through,"  I  told  him  that  it  would 
save  some  trouble  to  him  if  he  would  let  the  girl  in 
his  room,  who  was  a  relation  of  Brown's,  see  him 
now.  After  a  slight  hesitancy  he  called  her,  ob- 
serving it  was  not  exactly  according  to  rule. 

"  It's  Sarah,  I  suppose,"  said  Brown,  taking  a 
station  by  my  side  with  folded  arms,  and  giving  a 
slight  nod  of  recognition  to  the  girl,  as  in  obedience 
to  the  jailer's  call  she  entered  the  yard.  "  You'd 
better  stand  there,  Sarah,"  he  said  to  her,  "till 
Mr.  Trimble  gets  through  with  me.  It's  no  use 
for  her  to  hear  our  talk  ;  plague  take  all  witnesses, 
anyhow." 

Eyeing  me  again  with  a  searching  expression, 
Brown,  as  if  he  had  at  last  made  his  mind  up  to 
the  matter,  said,  "I  believe  I'll  tell  you  all,  Squire; 
I  did  the  thing." 

"  Yes,  Brown,  I  knew  you  did,"  I  replied  ;  "  the 
misfortune  is  you  told  it  to  the  officers." 

"  Yes,  that's  a  fact.  But  may  be  you  can  lead 
the  witnesses  on  the  wrong  scent  if  you  know  just 
how  things  are,  could'nt  you?"  I  nodded,  and  he 
continued.  "  I  boasted  when  they  got  me.  con- 
siderable ;  but  the  fact  is,  that  I  got  the  money. 
I  was  in  the  Exchange  on  the  landing,  where  I 
saw  a  countryman  seated,  who  looked  to  me  as  if 
he  had  money.  I  contrived  to  get  into  conversa- 
tion with  him,  and  asked  him  to  drink  with  me  ; 
he  did  so,  and  I  plied  him  pretty  strong.  The 
22* 


258  THE  UNSUMMONED  WITNESS, 

liquor  warmed  him  at  last,  and  he  asked  me  to 
drink  with  him  ;  I  consented,  and  when  he  came 
to  pay  his  bill  he  had  no  change,  and  had  to  dive 
into  a  cunning  side-pocket,  in  the  lining  of  his 
waistcoat,  to  get  out  a  bill,  though  he  turned  his 
back  round  and  was  pretty  cautious.  I  saw  he  had 
a  good  deal  of  money.  I  got  him  boozy,  and  when 
he  left  I  dogged  him.  He  was  in  to  market,  and 
had  his  wagon  on  the  landing  not  far  from  the  Ex- 
change. He  slept  in  it.  He  not  only  buttoned 
his  vest  tight  up,  but  his  overcoat  tight  over  that, 
and  laid  down  on  the  side  where  he  hid  away  his 
rhino.  Notwithstanding  this,"  continued  Brown, 
and  he  laughed  at  the  remembrance  of  his  own  in- 
genuity, "  I  contrived  to  make  him  turn  over  in 
his  sleep,  and  cut  clean  out  through  overcoat  and 
all,  got  his  pocket,  with  its  contents,  three  hundred 
dollars.  I  had  spent  all  my  money  at  night  with 
him.  In  the  morning  my  nerves  wanted  bracing, 
and  what  must  I  do  but  spend  some  of  his  money 
for  grog  and  breakfast.  The  countryman  imme- 
diately went  before  a  magistrate  and  described  me 
as  a  person  whom  he  suspected.  The  officers  knew 
me  from  his  description  ;  and  though  I  had  left 
Cincinnati  and  got  as  far  as  Cleves,  fifteen  or  eigh- 
teen miles,  they  followed  so  close  on  my  track  as 
to  nab  me  that  very  day.  I  had  been  keeping  up 
the  steam  pretty  high  along  the  road  ;  they  traced 
me  in  that  way,  and  full  of  folly  and  the  devil, 


THE  UNSUMMONED  WITNESS.  259 

for  the  sake  of  talking  and  keeping  off  the  horrors, 
I  made  my  brags,  and  told  all.  I  suppose  my  case 
is  desperate." 

I  told  him  that  I  thought  it  was. 

"When  I  think  of  my  old  mother  !"  exclaimed 
he,  passing  his  hand  rapidly  across  his  brow;  he 
then  beckoned  Sarah  to  him,  and  I  walked  to  the 
farther  end  of  the  yard  so  as  not  to  be  a  listener. 
Their  colloquy  was  interrupted  by  the  jailer  coming 
to  the  door.  When  I  left  him,  Sarah  followed  me 
out ;  and,  after  requesting  me  to  call  and  see  him 
again,  she  took  a  direction  different  from  mine,  and 
I  went  to  my  office. 

The  grand-jury,  of  course,  had  no  difficulty  in 
finding  a  bill  against  Brown,  and  the  day  of  his 
trial  soon  came.  The  countryman  was  the  first 
witness  on  the  stand.  It  was  amusing,  if  not  edi- 
fying, to  observe  the  smirk  of  professional  pride  on 
the  countenance  of  the  prisoner  when  the  country- 
man recounted  how  he  carefully  buttoned  up  his 
coat  over  his  money  and  went  to  sleep  on  that  side, 
and  awoke  on  that  side,  the  right  one,  and  found 
his  pocket  cut  out  with  as  much  ingenuity  as  a 
tailor  could  have  done  it.  I  tried  to  exclude  the 
evidence  of  Brown's  confession  from  the  jury  on 
the  ground  that  it  was  extorted  from  him  ;  but  that 
fact  not  appearing  to  the  court,  they  overruled  my 
objection:  and  the  facts  of  the  case,  with  many  ex- 
aggerations, were  narrated   to  them  by  the  officer 


260  THE  UNSUMMONED  WITNESS. 

who  arrested  the  prisoner,  as  his  free  and  voluntary 
confession.  I  had  scarcely  any  grounds  of  defence 
at  all.  I  tried  to  ridicule  the  idea  of  Brown's  hav- 
ing made  a  confession,  and  presented  the  country- 
man in  an  attitude  that  made  him  the  laughing- 
stock of  the  jury  and  audience  ;  but,  though  it  was 
evident  to  them  that  the  countryman  was  a  fool,  it 
was  not  less  apparent,  I  feared,  that  Brown  was  a 
knave.  I  had  some  idea  of  an  alibi,  but  that  would 
have  been  carrying  matters  too  far.  I,  however, 
proved  his  good  character  by  several  witnesses. 
Alas!  the  prosecuting  attorney  showed  that  he  was 
an  old  offender,  who  had  been  more  than  once  a 
guest  of  the  State's  between  the  walls  of  the  peni- 
tentiary. The  prosecuting  attorney,  in  fact,  in  his 
opening  address  to  the  court  and  jury,  attacked 
Brown  in  the  sternest  language  he  could  use.  He 
represented  him  as  the  violator  of  every  sound  tie; 
and  as  hurrying  his  mother's  gray  hairs  to  the 
grave.  At  this  last  charge  the  prisoner  winced. 
I  saw  the  lightning  of  his  ire  against  the  prosecutor 
flash  through  the  tears  of  guilt  and  contrition. 
When  I  arose  to  address  the  jury  in  reply,  Brown 
called  me  to  him  and  said — 

' 'Mr.  Trimble,  you  know  all  about  my  case — 
you  know  I  am  guilty ;  but  you  must  get  me  off  if 
you  can,  for  my  old  mother's  sake.  Plead  for  me 
as  if  you  were  pleading  for  the  apostles — for  the 
Saviour  of  mankind." 


THE  UNSUMMONED  WITNESS.  261 

This  was  a  strong  expression  to  convey  to  me 
the  idea  that  I  must  speak  and  act  to  the  jury  as 
if  I  held  him  in  my  own  heart  guiltless,  was  it  not? 

Poor  Sarah  was  a  tearful  witness  of  his  trial. 
She  was  spared,  however,  being  present  when  the 
verdict  was  rendered.  The  jury  retired  about  dark, 
with  the  agreement  between  myself  and  the  prose- 
cutor that  they  might  bring  in  a  sealed  verdict.  I 
told  Sarah,  for  the  sake  of  her  feelings,  before  the 
court  adjourned,  that  they  would  not  meet  the 
next  morning  before  ten  o'clock.  They  met  at 
nine,  and  before  she  got  there,  their  verdict  of 
guilty  was  recorded  against  the  prisoner. 

As  they  were  taking  Brown  to  jail,  he  asked  me 
to  step  over  and  see  him,  saying  that  he  had  a  fee 
for  me.  I  had  been  unable  to  get  from  him  more 
than  a  promise  to  pay  before  his  trial.  I,  of  course, 
gave  that  up  as  fruitless,  and  appeared  for  him  on 
Sarah's  account,  not  on  his  own,  or  with  any  hope 
of  acquitting  him.  I  therefore  was  surprised  at 
his  remark,  and  followed  him  to  the  jail.  He  was 
placed  in  a  cell  by  himself — the  rule  after  convic- 
tion— and  I  went  in  with  him  at  his  request,  and 
we  were  left  alone. 

"  Squire,"  said  he,  with  more  emotion  than  I 
thought  him  capable  of,  "  I  don't  care  so  much  for 
myself;  I  could  stand  it;  I  am  almost  guilt  hard- 
ened— but  when  I  think  of  my  mother — 0  God! 
— and  Sarah,  she  has  been  as  true  to  me  as  if  I 


262  THE  UNSUMMONED  WITNESS. 

were  an  angel  instead  of  a  devil ;  but  she  wasn't 
in  court  to-day  ?" 

"No,"  said  I;  "I  told  her  that  court  would  not 
sit  until  ten  o'clock.  I  saw  how  deeply  she  was 
interested,  and  I  saved  her  the  shock  of  hearing 
your  guilt  pronounced  in  open  court." 

"Blast  that  prosecuting  attorney,"  exclaimed 
Brown,  gnashing  his  teeth,  "  why  need  he  go  out 
of  the  case  to  abuse  me  about  my  mother,  before 
Sarah.  I'd  like  to  catch  him  in  the  middle  of  the 
Ohio,  swimming,  some  dark  night ;  if  he  didn't  go 
to  the  bottom  and  stay  there,  it  would  be  because 
I  couldn't  keep  him  down.  But,  Squire,  about 
that  fee — you  trusted  me,  and  as  you  are  the  first 
lawyer  that  ever  did,  I'll  show  you  that  I  am  for 
once  worthy  of  confidence.  Over  the  Licking 
River,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  up  on  the  Covington  side 
— you  know,  Squire,  the  Licking  is  the  river  right 
opposite  to  Cincinnati,  in  Kentucky — well,  over 
that  river,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  up,  you  will  see, 
about  fifteen  feet  from  the  bank,  a  large  tree  stand- 
ing by  itself,  with  a  large  hole  on  the  east  side  of 
it.  Run  your  hand  up  that  hole,  and  you  will  take 
hold  of  a  black  bottle,  corked  tight.  Break  it  open ; 
in  it  you  will  find  fifteen  hundred  dollars — five 
hundred  of  it  is  counterfeit — the  rest  is  good. 
Squire,  it  is  your  fee.  Your  character  and  coun- 
tenance is  good  enough  to  pass  the  whole  of  it." 

I  bowed  to  the  compliment  which  Brown  paid 


THE  UNSUMMONED  WITNESS.  263 

my  "character  and  countenance  "  at  the  expense 
of  my  morals,  and  said,  "  You  are  not  hoaxing  me, 
I  hope." 

"I  am  not  in  that  mood,  Squire,"  replied  the 
convict,  and  asking  me  for  my  pencil,  he  drew  on 
the  wall  a  rough  map  of  the  locality  of  the  river 
and  tree,  and  repeated  earnestly  the  assertion  that 
he  himself,  in  the  hollow  of  the  tree,  had  hid  the 
bottle.  I  left  him,  rubbing  the  marks  of  his  map 
from  the  wall,  determined  at  the  first  opportunity 
to  make  a  visit  to  the  spot.  The  next  day  my 
professional  duties  called  me  on  a  visit  to  another 
prisoner  in  the  jail,  when  Brown  asked  me,  through 
the  little  loophole  of  his  door,  if  I  had  got  that  yet. 

"No,  Brown,"  I  replied,  "I  have  not  had  time 
to  go  there." 

"  Then,  Squire,"  he  exclaimed,  "  you  are  in  as 
bad  a  fix  as  I  am,  and  the  thing's  out." 

"  How  so  ?"  I  asked;  I  began  to  suspect  that 
he  thought  I  had  been  after  the  money,  and  that 
he  was  forming  some  excuse  for  my  not  finding 
what  he  knew  was  not  there. 

"  You  see  me,  Squire,  without  a  coat;  my  hat's 
gone  too.  Job  Fowler,  the  scoundrel — he  knows 
about  that  bottle — he  was  taken  out  of  the  jail 
yesterday  to  be  tried,  just  as  they  brought  me  in. 
I  thought,  though  my  respectable  clothes  hadn't 
done  me  any  good,  they  might  be  of  service  to  him, 
as  his  case  wasn't  strong,  and  every  little  helps  out 


264  THE  UNSUMMONED  WITNESS. 

in  such  cases,  as  they  help  the  other  way  when  the 
thing's  dark ;  so  I  lent  them  to  him.  He  was 
found  not  guilty,  and  he  walked  off  with  my  ward- 
robe. So  the  jury,  hang  them,  aided  and  abetted 
him  in  committing  a  felony  in  the  very  act  of 
acquitting  him  for  one  ;  and  by  this  time  he's  got 
that  money.  Never  mind,  we  shall  be  the  State's 
guests  together  yet,  in  her  palace  at  Columbus." 

What  Brown  told  me  in  regard  to  the  bottle  and 
Job  Fowler,  was  indeed  true. 

Job  was  acquitted  in  Brown's  clothes,  and  walked 
off  in  them,  and  wended  instantly  to  the  tree  beside 
the  Licking,  where  he  found  the  bottle,  which  he 
rifled  of  its  contents  without  the  trouble  of  uncork- 
ing it.  Mistaking  the  bad  money  for  the  good,  he 
returned  instantly  to  Cincinnati,  and  attempted  to 
pass  some  of  it.  The  man  to  whom  he  offered  it 
happened  to  be  in  the  court-house,  a  spectator  of 
his  trial.  His  suspicions  were  aroused.  He  had 
Mr.  Job  arrested,  and  on  him  was  found  the  fifteen 
hundred  dollars.  A  thousand  dollars  of  it  was 
good,  but  I  got  none  of  it;  for  the  gentleman  from 
whom  Brown  and  Fowler  together  had  stolen  it 
was  found. 

The  very  day  that  Brown  was  convicted,  and  Job 
acquitted  in  the  former's  clothes,  he  was  arrested 
for  passing  counterfeit  money.  A  bill  was  found 
against  him  that  morning.  He  was  tried  that 
afternoon  and  convicted,  and  the  day  after,  he  and 


THE  UNSUMMONED  WITNESS.  265 

Brown,  handcuffed  together,  were  conveyed  to  the 
penitentiary. 


PART  SECOND. 


Tue  interest  which  I  took  in  Brown's  mother 
and  Sarah,  induced  me  to  visit  them  after  he  was 
sent  to  the  penitentiary,  to  which  he  was  sentenced 
for  ten  years. 

His  afflicted  mother,  overcome  by  accumulated 
sorrow  for  his  many  crimes  and  their  consequences, 
rapidly  sank  into  the  grave.  I  happened  to  call 
at  her  humble  dwelling  the  night  she  died.  Sarah 
supported  her  by  her  needle,  and  a  hard  task  it 
was;  for  the  doctor's  bill  and  the  little  luxuries 
which  her  relative  needed,  more  than  consumed 
her  hard  earnings. 

The  old  woman  called  me  to  her  bedside,  and 
together  with  Sarah,  made  me  promise  that  if  I 
saw  her  son  again,  I  would  tell  him  that  with  her 
dying  breath  she  prayed  for  him.  The  promise 
was  made  ;  and  while  she  was  in  the  act  of  praying, 
her  voice  grew  inaudible  ;  and,  uttering  with  her 
last  feeble  breath  an  ejaculation  for  mercy,  not 
for  herself,  but  for  her  outcast  child,  her  spirit 
passed  to  the  judgment-seat ;  and  if  memory  and 
affection  hold  sway  in  the  disembodied  soul,  doubt- 


266  THE  UNSUMMONED  WITNESS. 

less  she  will  be  a  suppliant  there  for  him,  as  she 
was  here. 

After  the  death  of  the  old  woman,  I  saw  Sarah 
once  or  twice,  and  then  suddenly  lost  all  trace  of 
her.  More  than  a  year  had  now  elapsed  since 
Brown's  conviction,  and  in  increasing  ill  health 
and  the  presence  of  other  scenes  and  circumstances, 
as  touching  as  those  of  the  mother  and  cousin, 
I  had  forgotten  them.  I  was  advised  by  my  phy- 
sician to  forsake  all  business,  obtain  a  vehicle,  and 
by  easy  stages,  travelling  whither  fancy  led,  try 
to  resuscitate  my  system.  In  fulfilment  of  this 
advice,  I  was  proceeding  on  my  way  to  Columbus, 
Ohio,  with  the  double  purpose  of  improving  my 
health,  and,  by  making  acquaintances  in  the  State 
where  I  had  settled,  facilitate  and  increase  my 
practice,  should  I  ever  be  permitted  to  resume  my 
profession. 

The  sun  was  just  setting  in  a  summer's  evening, 
as,  within  a  half  a  mile  of  Columbus,  I  passed  a 
finely  formed  female  on  the  road,  who  was  stepping 
along  with  a  bundle  on  her  arm.  There  was  some- 
thing of  interest  in  the  appearance  of  the  girl 
which  caused  me  to  look  back  at  her  after  I  had 
passed.  Instantly  I  drew  up  my  horse.  It  was 
Sarah  Mason.  Her  meeting  with  me  seemed  to 
give  her  great  pleasure.  I  asked  her  if  she  would 
not  ride,  and  thanking  me,  she  entered  my  vehicle 
and  took  a  seat  by  my  side. 


THE  UNSUMMONED  WITNESS.  267 

She  had  been  very  anxious  to  obtain  a  pardon 
for  Brown  before  his  mother's  death.  I  had  told 
her  it  would  be  fruitless,  unless  she  could  get  the 
jury  who  condemned  him,  together  with  the 
judges,  to  sign  the  recommendation  to  the  gover- 
nor, and  I  did  not  believe  they  would  do  it.  I, 
however,  at  her  earnest  solicitation,  drew  up  the 
petition,  and  when  I  last  asked  her  about  her  suc- 
cess, which  was,  in  fact,  the  last  time  I  saw  her, 
she  told  me  she  had  not  got  one  of  the  jury  to 
sign  it,  but  that  several  had  told  her  that  they 
would  do  so,  if  she  would  obtain  previously  the 
signature  of  the  presiding  judge.  By  the  law  of 
Ohio  a  judgeship  is  not  held  for  life,  but  for  a 
term  of  years.  The  term  of  office  of  the  presiding 
judge  on  Brown's  trial  had  expired,  and  a  new 
party  prevailing  in  the  Legislature,  from  that 
which  had  appointed  him,  he  had  failed  to  obtain 
the  reappointment.  He  had  removed  to  St.  Louis 
for  the  purpose  of  practising  law  there;  and  thither 
Sarah  had  repaired  with  her  unsigned  petition. 
After  repeated  solicitations  and  prayerful  en- 
treaties, she  at  last  prevailed  on  the  ex-judge  to 
sign  it.  She  then  returned  to  Cincinnati,  and 
after  considerable  trouble  succeeded  in  finding  ten 
of  the  jury,  some  of  whom  followed  the  judge's 
example.  The  rest  refused,  stating,  what  was  too 
true,  that  the  ease  with  which  criminals  obtained 
pardon  from  gubernatorial  clemency  in  this  coun- 


2G8  THE  UNSUMMONED  WITNESS. 

try,  was  one  of  the  great  causes  of  the  frequency 
of  crime  ;  for  it  removed  the  certainty  of  punish- 
ment which  should  ever  follow  conviction ;  and 
which  has  more  effect  upon  the  mind  than  severity 
itself,  when  there  is  a  hope  of  escaping  it. 

A  new  governor,  in  the  rapid  mutations  of  of- 
ficial life  in  the  United  States,  had  become  dis- 
penser of  the  pardoning  power  shortly  after 
Brown's  conviction,  and  it  was  his  ear  that  Sarah 
personally  sought,  armed  with  the  recommenda- 
tion. 

lie  was  a  good,  easy  man,  where  party  influence 
was  not  brought  to  bear  adversely  on  him,  and 
after  he  had  read  the  petition,  Sarah's  entreaty 
soon  prevailed,  and  Brown  was  pardoned. 

The  very  day  he  was  pardoned  he  called  on  me 
at  Russel's  hotel,  with  his  cousin  ;  and  after  they 
had  mutually  returned  me  their  thanks  for  the  in- 
terest which  I  took  in  their  behalf,  he  promised 
me,  voluntarily,  to  pay  me  a  fee  with  the  first 
earnings  he  got,  which  he  said  solemnly  should  be 
from  the  fruits  of  honest  industry. 

He  took  my  address  and  departed.  I  thought  no 
more  of  it  till,  one  day,  most  opportunely,  I 
received  through  the  post-office  a  two  hundred 
dollar  bill  of  the  United  States  Bank,  with  a  well- 
written  letter  from  him,  stating  that  he  had  re- 
formed his  course  of  life,  and  that  it  was  through 
the  influence  of  his  cousin,  whom  he  had  married, 


THE  UNSUMMONED  WITNESS.  269 

that  lie  had  clone  so.  He  said  that  he  had  assumed 
another  name  in  the  place  where  he  then  dwelt, 
which  he  would  have  no  objection  to  communicate 
to  myself;  but,  as  it  was  of  no  consequence  to  me, 
and  might  be  to  him,  should  my  letter  fall  into  the 
hands  of  another  person,  he  had  withheld  it,  toge- 
ther with  the  name  of  the  place  where  himself  and 
wife  were  located.  The  letter  had  been  dropped 
in  the  Cincinnati  post-office,  and  there  was  no  clue 
whereby  I  could  have  traced  him,  had  I  entertained 
such  a  wish,  which  I  did  not. 

Some  time  after  this,  I  wTas  a  sojourner  in  the 
South,  spellbound  by  the  fascinations  of  a  lady, 
with  whom  I  became  acquainted  the  previous  sum- 
mer in  Philadelphia,  where  she  wTas  spending  the 
sultry  season.  She  lived  with  her  parents,  on  a 
plantation  near  a  certain  city  on  the  Mississippi, 
which,  for  peculiar  reasons,  I  may  not  name.  Her 
brother  was  practising  law  there,  and  he  and  I 
became  close  cronies.  Frequently,  I  rode  to  the 
city  with  him;  and,  on  one  occasion,  we  were  both 
surprised,  as  we  entered  it,  by  an  unusual  commo- 
tion among  the  inhabitants,  who  were  concentrating 
in  crowds  to  the  spot,  collected  by  some  strange 
and  boisterous  attraction. 

My  friend  rode  into  the   melee,  and  presently 

returned  to  my  side,  with  the  crowd  about  him, 

from  whom  he  was  evidently  protecting  a  man,  who 

walked  with  his  hand  on  the  neck  of  my  friend's 

23* 


270  THE  UNSUMMONED  WITNESS, 

horse.  The  man  walked  as  if  he  felt  that  he  was 
protected,  but  would  die  game  if  he  were  attacked. 

"  Sheriff,"  called  out  my  friend  to  a  tall  person 
who  was  expostulating  with  the  crowd,  "it  is  your 
duty  to  protect  Bassford;  he  has  lived  here  with 
us  some  time,  has  a  wife  and  family,  a  good  name, 
and  he  must  and  shall  have  a  fair  trial." 

"  Colonel  Cameron's  empty  pocketbook  was 
found  near  Bassford's  house,"  exclaimed  one  of 
the  crowd,  "  and  Bassford's  dagger  by  the  dead 
body." 

"And  Bassford  and  the  Colonel  were  overheard 
quarrelling  a  few  hours  before  he  was  killed," 
shouted  another. 

"  Let  Bassford  answer,  then,  according  to  law," 
said  my  friend.  "I  will  kill  the  first  man  who 
lays  violent  hands  upon  him." 

"And  I  will  justify  and  assist  you,"  said  the 
sheriff.  "Mr.  Leo,  Mr.  Gale,  and  you,  sir,"  con- 
tinued the  officer,  turning  to  me,  "  I  summon  you 
to  assist  me  in  lodging  this  man  safely  in  jail,  there 
to  abide  the  laws  of  his  country." 

Awed  by  the  resolution  which  the  sheriff  and  his 
posse  exhibited,  the  crowd  slunk  back,  but  with 
deep  mutterings  of  wrath,  while  we  gathered  around 
Bassford,  and  hastened  with  him  to  the  jail,  which 
was  not  far  off,  in  which  we  soon  safely  lodged  him. 

It  occurred  to  me,  when  I  first  looked  on  Bass- 
ford, that  I  had  seen  him  before,  but  I  could  not 


THE  UNSUMMONED  WITNESS.  271 

tell  where.  A  minuter  scrutiny,  as  I  stood  by  his 
side  in  the  jail,  satisfied  ine  that  he  was  no  other 
than  my  old  client,  Brown.  Feeling  that  my 
recognition  of  him  would  not  advance  his  interests, 
if  I  should  be  questioned  about  him,  I  maintained 
silence,  and  stood  by  a  spectator.  Brown  stated 
to  the  sheriff  that  he  wished  my  friend,  whom  I 
will  call  De  Berry,  to  be  his  counsel,  and  requested 
that  he  might  be  placed  alone  with  him,  where  he 
might  have  some  private  conversation  with  him. 
The  sheriff  said,  "certainly;"  and  we  all  retired, 
De  Berry  asking  me  to  wait  for  him  without.  I 
did  so ;  and,  in  a  few  minutes,  he  came  to  me,  and 
said  that  the  prisoner  wished  to  see  me.  "  I  pre- 
sume, sheriff,  you  will  have  no  objection?" 

"  Not  the  least,"  replied  the  sheriff.  "  Take  Mr. 
Trimble  in  with  you." 

I  accordingly  entered;  and,  the  moment  the  door 
was  closed,  Brown  asked  me  if  I  remembered  him. 

"Perfectly,"  I  replied. 

"Mr.  Trimble,"  he  continued,  "I  saw  you  with 
Mr.  De  Berry,  and  knew  that  you  recognized  me. 
I  supposed  that  you  might  tell  him  what  you  knew 
of  me,  to  my  prejudice.  Here  I  have  maintained 
a  good  character,  and  I  therefore  resolved  to  see 
you  with  him,  and  tell  you  the  circumstances.  I 
am  as  guiltless  now  as  I  was  guilty  then. 

"  Mr.  De  Berry  says  that  the  court,  upon  appli- 
cation, will  admit  you,  if  it  is  necessary,  to  defend 


272  THE  UNSUMMONED  WITNESS. 

mo  with  him,  and  I  wish  you  would  do  it.  Let  me 
tell  you  this  affair.  I  know  it  looks  black  against 
me,  but  hear  me  first.  After  my  cousin  obtained 
my  pardon  in  Ohio,  I  married  her,  swore  an  oath 
to  lead  a  better  life,  and,  before  God,  have  done 
so.  Sarah  was  and  is  everything  to  me.  Not  for 
the  wealth  of  worlds  would  I  involve  myself  in 
guilt  which  might  fall  upon  her  and  her  children. 
Knowing,  Mr.  Trimble,  that  in  Ohio  I  could  not 
obtain  employment,  or  reinstate  myself  in  cha- 
racter, I  came  here,  with  a  changed  name  and 
nature,  to  commence,  as  it  were,  the  world  again. 
Since  I  have  been  here,  my  character,  as  Mr.  De 
Berry  will  tell  you,  has  been  without  reproach. 
But,  old  associations  and  companions  dog  us, 
though  we  fly  from  them.  I  have  been  located 
here  on  a  little  farm  belonging  to  Mr.  De  Berry, 
which,  with  the  aid  of  two  negroes  hired  from  him, 
I  cultivate,  raising  vegetables  and  such  things  for 
the  market.  I  had  hoped  the  past  was  with  the 
past,  but  last  week  there  came  along  one  of  my 
old  associates,  who  urged  me  to  join  with  him  and 
others  in  a  certain  depredation.  I  told  him  of  my 
altered  life,  and  positively  refused.  He  insisted, 
and  taunted  me  with  hypocrisy,  and  so  forth,  till 
he  nearly  stung  me  to  madness.  I  bore  it  all, 
until,  on  my  telling  him  that  my  wife  had  reformed 
me,  and  that  on  her  account  I  meant  to  be  honest, 
he  threw  slurs  on  her  of  the  blackest  dye.    I  could 


THE  UNSUMMONED  WITNESS.  273 

Lear  it  no  longer,  but  leaped  upon  him,  and  would 
have  slain  him,  had  not  some  of  his  companions 
came  up  and  rescued  him.  It  was  on  the  banks  of 
the  river,  in  a  lonely  spot  that  we  met,  and  their 
coming  up  might  have  been  accident  or  not.  He 
vowed  vengeance  against  me  and  mine,  and  left. 
Colonel  Cameron,  as  you  know,  Mr.  De  Berry, 
bore  the  character  of  an  overbearing  and  tyranni- 
cal man.  We  had  some  dealings  together.  He 
was  in  my  debt,  and  wished  to  pay  me  in  flour.  I 
told  him  politely  it  was  the  money  which  I  wTanted. 
He  swore  that  I  should  not  have  money  or  flour 
either.  He  raised  his  whip  to  strike  me.  I  flew 
into  a  passion,  dared  him  to  lay  the  weight  of  his 
finger  on  me,  and  abused  him,  as  a  man  in  a 
passion  and  injured  would  do  under  the  circum- 
stances; perhaps  I  threatened  him  ;  I  do  not  know 
exactly  what  I  said  in  my  anger.  This  was  yes- 
terday afternoon.  It  seems  that  the  Colonel  went 
to  Mr.  Pottea's  afterwards,  returned  after  night, 
was  waylaid,  and  killed.  How  his  pocketbook 
came  by  my  house,  I  know  not.  As  for  the  dag- 
ger, I  had  such  a  one.  When  I  changed  my  name 
I  thought,  to  make  everything  about  me  seem 
natural  with  it,  that  I  would  have  Bassford 
engraved  on  it.  I  lost  it  some  months  ago,  and 
have  not  seen  it  since,  till  to-day.  Such,  gentle- 
men, is  the  truth;  but,  great  God!  what  is  to 
become  of  myself  and  family,  with  such  testimony 


274  THE  UNSUMMONED  WITNESS. 

against  me  ?  Two  or  three  men  in  the  crowd  called 
out  that  they  knew  me  before,  that  I  had  been  in 
the  Ohio  penitentiary,  that  my  name  is  Brown ; 
and  here  is  my  quarrel  with  the  Colonel,  his  mur- 
der on  the  heels  of  it,  my  dagger  by  his  dead  body, 
and  his  empty  pocketbook  by  my  house.  Notwith- 
standing all  this,  gentlemen,  I  am  innocent.  Do 
you  think  that,  if  I  had  murdered  him,  I  would 
not  have  hid  my  dagger?  and  would  I  have  rifled 
his  pocketbook  and  pitched  it  away  by  my  own 
door-sill,  where  anybody  might  find  it?  No;  my 
enemy  must  have  contrived  this  to  ruin  me." 

At  this  instant  the  door  was  opened  by  the 
sheriff,  and  Brown's  wife  admitted ;  she  threw  her- 
self into  his  arms,  exclaiming,  "  He  is  innocent, 
I  know  he  is  innocent!"  while  Brown,  utterly 
overcome  by  his  emotions,  pressed  her  to  his  heart, 
and  wept  bitterly.  I  whispered  to  De  Berry  that 
we  had  better  leave  them,  and  accordingly  with- 
drew. 

That  afternoon,  Mrs.  Brown  called  to  see  me. 
She  asked  me  if  I  would  aid  her  husband  ;  and  I 
promised  that  I  would.  She  looked  neat  and  tidy, 
said  she  had  two  children,  and  I  saw  that  she  was 
soon  again  to  be  a  mother.  She  told  me  the  same 
story  that  Brown  had  told  me,  and  I  could  not 
but  express  the  deepest  regret  for  his  and  her 
situation. 

The  name  of  Brown's  former  accomplice,  with 


THE  UNSUMMONED  WITNESS.  275 

whom  lie  had  quarrelled,  was  Burnham.  He  was 
a  desperate  character,  perfectly  unfeeling  and  un- 
principled, and  possessed  of  great  energy  of  spirit 
and  frame.  It  is  surprising  that  Brown  should 
have  overcome  him.  Brown's  mastery  originated, 
doubtless,  in  the  fury  of  his  insulted  feelings. 

De  Berry  became  very  much  interested  in 
Brown's  case.  The  morning  of  his  interference  in 
his  behalf,  Brown  had  been  taken  upon  the  charge 
of  murdering  Colonel  Cameron.  "While  the  sheriff, 
who  was  well-disposed  towards  him,  was  proceed- 
ing with  him  to  the  magistrate's,  the  crowd  had 
gathered  round  them  so  thickly  as  to  interrupt 
their  progress,  and  Brown  had  been  separated 
from  the  officer.  The  crowd,  among  whose  leaders 
was  Burnham,  had  made  furious  demonstrations 
against  the  prisoner  ;  but  his  resolute  manner  had 
prevented  their  laying  hands  on  him,  when  De 
Berry  and  myself  rode  up,  and  the  sheriff,  as  we 
have  related,  took  his  charge  to  jail,  to  prevent  an 
outrage,  until  the  excitement  had  somewhat  sub- 
sided. 

The  next  morning  De  Berry  insisted  upon  having 
a  hearing  before  the  magistrate,  asserting  that  he 
meant  to  offer  bail  for  Brown.  As  we  proceeded  to 
the  magistrate's,  we  stopped  at  Brown's  humble 
dwelling,  and  took  his  wife  and  children  with  us. 
The  tidiness  of  his  afflicted  wife  and  children,  and 


276  THE  UNSUMMONBD  WITNESS. 

the  evident  order  of  his  household  and  garden, 
made  a  most  favorable  impression  upon  us. 

As  we  approached  the  magistrate's,  we  wondered 
that  we  saw  nobody  about  the  door  of  his  office  ; 
but  we  learned,  on  arriving,  that  the  officer  of  the 
law  had  determined  to  have  the  hearing  in  the 
court-house,  in  consequence  of  the  anticipation  of 
a  great  crowd,  who  would  be  anxious  to  hear.  To 
the  court  we  repaired.  There  was  an  immense 
concourse  about  the  door,  though  the  sheriff  had 
not  yet  appeared  with  his  charge.  De  Berry  sent 
the  wife  and  children  to  the  jail,  that  they  might 
come  with  him  to  the  court-house,  and  by  their 
presence  and  the  sympathy  that  they  would  excite, 
prevent  any  outbreak  from  the  mob.  We  took  our 
station  on  the  court-house  steps,  where,  elevated 
above  the  crowd,  we  could  observe  their  demeanor 
as  the  sheriff  and  Brown  advanced.  By  our  side 
stood  a  tall  gaunt  Kentuckian,  clad  in  a  hunting- 
shirt,  and  leaning  on  his  rifle.  He  seemed  to  be 
an  anxious  observer  of  myself  and  friend.  He  soon 
gathered  from  our  conversation  the  position  in 
which  we  stood  towards  Brown,  and  remarked  to 
us — 

"Strangers,  I  suppose  you  are  lawyers  for  Bass- 
ford  ;  I  am  glad  he  has  help,  I  fear  he'll  need  it; 
but  he  once  did  me  a  service,  and  I  want  to  see 
right  'twixt  man  and  man." 

Before  De  Berry  could  reply,  we  were  attracted 


THE  UNSUMMONED  WITNESS.  277 

by  a  stir  among  the  crowd,  and  not  far  off,  in  the 
direction  of  the  jail,  we  saw  the  sheriff  advancing 
with  the  prisoner,  who  was  accompanied  by  his 
wife  and  children.  Approaching  close  behind 
them,  were  several  horsemen,  among  whom  we 
could  not  fail  to  observe  Burnham,  from  the  eager- 
ness with  which  he  pressed  forward. 

With  not  so  much  as  the  ordinary  bustle  and 
confusion  incident  upon  such  occasions,  in  fact, 
with  less  expressed  emotion,  the  crowd  gathered 
into  the  court-house,  the  squire  occupying  the  seat 
of  the  judge,  and  the  prisoner  a  chair  within  the 
bar,  by  the  side  of  De  Berry  and  myself,  with  his 
anxious  wife  to  his  right.  The  prosecuting  at- 
torney, who  was  a  warm  friend  of  the  deceased 
colonel,  seated  himself  opposite  to  us.  Burnham 
pressed  through  the  crowd  within  the  bar,  and  sta- 
tioned himself  near  the  prosecutor,  to  whom  I  over- 
heard him  say — 

"  There  are  folks  here  who  can  prove  that  his 
real  name  is  not  Bassford  but  Brown,  and  that  he 
was  pardoned  out  of  the  Ohio  Penitentiary ;  that 
man,  by  his  lawyer,  can  prove  it,  so  can  I;  but  you 
had  better  call  him,  he  knows — " 

"  Let  me  pass,  let  me  pass !"  exclaimed  a  female 
at  this  moment,  pressing  through  the  crowd  with 
stern  energy  ;  "  I'll  tell  the  truth  ;  Bassford  is  in- 
nocent !" 

"  She's  crazy,"  exclaimed  Burnham,  looking 
24 


278  THE  UNSUMMONED  WITNESS. 

around  with  alarm,  and  making  a  threatening  ges- 
ture, as  if  privately  to  her,  to  hush,  forgetting  that 
the  eyes  of  all  were  upon  him. 

"  Crazy  !"  retorted  the  woman,  who  was  of  slen- 
der person  and  fine  features,  though  they  were  dis- 
torted by  excess  and  passion,  and  who  seemed  to 
be  possessed  by  some  furious  purpose,  as  if  by  a 
fiend.  "  They  shall  judge  if  I  am  crazy.  Prove 
it,  and  then  you  may  prove  that  Bassford  is 
guilty.  Gentlemen,  John  Burnham  there,  mur- 
dered Colonel  Cameron !  There  is  the  money  that 
Burnham  took  from  the  dead  body ;  there  are  the 
letters,  here  is  his  watch  !  Bassford's  dagger  he 
got  in  a  quarrel  with  him;  he  murdered  the  col- 
onel with  it,  and  left  it  by  the  dead  body,  and  the 
pocketbook  by  Bassford's  house,  to  throw  the  guilt 
on  him  !" 

"How  can  you  prove  this,  good  woman?"  in- 
quired the  magistrate,  while  the  crowd,  in  breath- 
less eagerness,  were  as  hushed  as  death. 

"Prove  it!  By  myself,  by  these  letters,  by  that 
watch,  by  that  dagger,  by  everything — by  what  I 
am,  by  what  I  was  !  The  time  has  been  when  I 
was  as  innocent  as  I  am  now  vicious — as  spotless 
as  I  am  now  abandoned  ;  but  for  that  man,  that 
time  were  now.  Hear  me  for  a  moment;  the  truth 
that  is  in  me  shall  strike  your  hearts  with  justice 
and  with  terror;  shall  acquit  the  innocent,  and 
appal  the  guilty.      In  better  days    I  knew  both 


THE  UNSUMMONED  WITNESS.  279 

these  men ;  Bassford  I  loved,  he  loved  me.  My 
education  had  been  good ;  that  was  all  my  parents 
left  me,  with  a  good  name.  He  was  thoughtless 
and  wild  then,  but  not  criminal ;  he  fell  in  with 
this  man,  Burnham,  whom  he  brought  to  my 
father's  house,  and  made  his  confidant.  Burnham 
professed  a  partiality  for  me,  which  I  rejected  with 
scorn.  He  led  Bassford  into  error,  into  crime. 
He  coiled  himself  into  his  confidence,  and  made 
him  believe  that  I  had  abandoned  myself  to  him ; 
at  the  same  time  he  was  torturing  me  with  inven- 
tions of  Bassford's  faithlessness  towards  me.  Each 
of  us,  Bassford  and  myself,  grew  reserved  towards 
the  other,  without  asking  or  making  any  explana- 
tion. Oh  !  the  curse  of  this  pride — this  pride  ! 
Burnham  widened  the  breach !  He  drove  me  nearly 
mad  with  jealousy,  and  Bassford  with  distrust.  Bass- 
ford and  I  parted  in  anger.  Burnham  all  the  while 
pressed  his  passion  on  me.  Bassford  left  that  part 
of  the  country,  Hagerstown,  Maryland.  I  pro- 
mised to  marry  Burnham  ;  in  a  spell  of  sickness, 
which  fell  upon  me  in  the  absence  of  Bassford, 
he  drugged  me  with  opium,  made  me  what  I  am, 
and  abandoned  me  to  my  fate.  After  many 
wretched  years  of  ignominy  and  shame,  I  fell  in 
at  Louisville,  three  weeks  since,  with  Burnham;  I 
came  here  with  him.  He  saw  Bassford — tried  to 
draw  him  into  his  guilty  plots — they  quarrelled  ; 
and  he — he  never,  never  told  me  aught  until  he 


280  THE  UNSUMMONED  WITNESS. 

had  done  the  deed  ;  he  murdered  Colonel  Cameron 
to  ruin  Bassford  ;  and  there,  I  repeat  it,"  pointing 
to  the  watch,  the  money,  arid  the  letters  of  the  de- 
ceased, "  there  are  the  evidences  of  his  guilt." 

"Sheriff,"  said  the  magistrate,  "take  Burnham 
into  your  custody." 

"Kill  him!"  cried  out  an  hundred  voices  from 
the  crowd,  while  several  attempted  to  seize  him. 
Uttering  a  yell  like  a  wild  Indian  at  bay,  Burn- 
ham  eluded  their  grasp,  and  drawing  at  the  same 
instant  a  bowie-knife  from  his  breast,  he  darted 
forward  and  plunged  it  into  the  heart  of  the  wo- 
man. The  crowd  shrank  back  in  terror  as  the 
death-cry  of  the  victim  broke  upon  their  ear;  while 
the  murderer  brandished  the  bloody  knife  over 
his  head,  and.,  before  any  one  could  arrest  him, 
sprang  out  of  one  of  the  windows  of  the  court- 
room. It  was  a  leap  which  none  chose  to  follow ; 
and  all  rushed  instantaneously  to  the  door.  Be- 
fore the  crowd  got  out,  Burnham  had  mounted  his 
horse,  and  made  for  the  woods.  Several  of  the 
horsemen,  who  had  come  in  the  line,  mounted  and 
darted  after,  as  if  to  take  him. 

"  They  want  to  save  him,"  exclaimed  several, 
who  were  also  mounting  other  horses  that  stood  by. 

"  Clear  the  road !"  shouted  the  Kentuckian, 
who,  rifle  in  hand,  had  sprang  upon  a  mound, 
within  a  few  feet  of  the  court-house.  The  horse- 
men looked  fearfully  back,  as  if  instinctively  they 


THE  UNSUMMONED  WITNESS.  281 

understood  the  purpose  of  the  hunter,  and  spurred 
their  horses  from  the  track  of  the  flying  man.  The 
Kentuckian  raised  his  rifle  to  his  shoulder ;  in- 
stantly its  sharp  report  was  heard.  All  eyes  were 
turned  to  the  murderer,  who  was  urging  his  steed 
to  the  utmost.  He  started,  as  if  in  renewed  energy, 
then  reeled  to  and  fro  like  a  drunken  man,  then 
fell  upon  the  neck  of  his  horse,  at  the  mane  of 
which  he  seemed  to  grasp  blindly ;  in  a  moment 
more  he  tumbled  to  the  earth  like  a  dead  weight. 
He  was  dragged,  with  his  foot  in  the  stirrup, 
nearly  a  mile  before  his  horse  was  overtaken  and 
stopped.  The  bullet  of  the  sure-sighted  Ken- 
tuckian had  lodged  in  the  murderer's  brain.  He 
had  fallen  dead  from  his  saddle,  and  was  so  dis- 
figured as  scarcely  to  be  recognized.  The  body 
was  consigned  to  a  prayerless,  hurried,  and  undis- 
tinguished grave  by  the  roadside. 

Brown  is  still  alive,  where  I  left  him,  an  entirely 
reformed  and  honest  man.  A  stone  slab,  with 
some  rude  attempts  at  sculpture  on  it,  at  the  foot 
of  Brown's  garden,  designates  the  mortal  resting- 
place  of  the  woman,  who,  though  fallen  and  de- 
graded, was  true  to  her  first  affection,  and  braved 
death  to  save  him.  His  children,  with  holy  grati- 
tude, have  kept  the  weeds  from  growing  there,  and 
ever,  in  their  play,  become  silent  when  they  ap- 
proach it. 

21* 


LIFE   IN  WASHINGTON; 

SHOWING    HOW 

MR.    THOMPSON,    SECRETARY'S    MESSENGER,    SAVED 
HIS  BACON  ON  A  CERTAIN  OCCASION. 


"  I  find  among  office-holders,  few  deaths  and  no  resigna- 
tions."— Thomas  Jefferson  to  the  Merchants  of  Boston. 

None  but  those  who  have  had  an  opportunity  of 
observing  the  characteristics  of  official  life  in 
Washington,  can  have  any  idea  of  it;  and  even 
they,  unless  they  are  fond  of  observing  human 
character  in  its  various  developments,  would  not 
note  the  many  scenes  of  farce,  comedy,  and 
tragedy,  to  which  the  pursuit  of  it  gives  rise. 

Gliddon's  mummy  was  pronounced  by  the  lec- 
turer to  be  a  woman,  an  Egyptian  priestess  ;  but 
lo  !  after  his  many  lectures  and  many  unfoldings 
of  the  body,  it  turned  out,  so  the  doctors  say  (?),  in 
spite  of  the  learned  lecturer's  prophecy,  to  be  a 
man  after  all.     So,  many  an  individual  who  con- 


LIFE  IN  WASHINGTON.  283 

siders  himself  ticketed  for  an  office,  by  the  recom- 
mendation of  all  his  party,  and  about  to  be  em- 
balmed at  least  for  four  years  in  official  ease,  finds 
that  some  other  individual  has  got  into  his  place, 
either  by  mistake  or  design,  and  he  is  left,  like  the 
poor  cripple  at  the  pool  of  Bethesda,  waiting  for 
another  movement  of  the  political  waters;  but,  alas, 
when  it  comes  he  is  crowded  out,  and  there  is 
nobody  to  put  him  in.  Patience,  truly,  does  its 
"perfect  work"  in  religion,  but  it  seldom  does  in 
politics.  It  is  the  bustling,  active,  wide-awake 
fellow  who  generally  gets  in.  And  often,  after  all, 
the  occupant  sometimes  continues  to  keep  in  from 
the  press  of  the  very  multitude  without.  While 
the  Secretary,  for  instance,  who  holds  the  subordi- 
nate place  in  his  gift,  is  debating  with  himself  to 
which  of  the  many  he  shall  give  it,  he  discovers, 
maybe,  the  worth  of  the  occupant  who  holds  it,  and 
concludes  to  retain  him,  at  least  for  a  while,  until 
some  urgent  member  of  Congress,  who  has  a  cast- 
ing vote  upon  some  favorite  scheme  of  the  Secre- 
tary, presses  the  appointment  of  a  personal  and 
political  friend  for  personal  and  political  reasons. 
Glad  to  put  the  member  under  personal  obligations 
to  him,  the  Secretary  makes  the  removal,  no  mat- 
ter what  may  be  the  worth  of  the  occupant.  In 
Europe,  it  would  be  called  a  state  necessity;  here 
it  is  a  party  necessity,  we  should  be  told,  and  the 
maxim,  "to  the  victors  belong  the  spoils,"  though 


284  LIFE  IN  WASHINGTON. 

denied  by  one  party,  is  practised  by  both ;  and  ne- 
cessity, the  tyrant's  plea,  becomes  a  Whig  or  De- 
mocratic practice,  as  the  case  may  be.  But  if  the 
incumbent  chance  to  be  the  relative  or  friend  of 
the  influential  member,  he  is  kept  in  just  so  long 
as  that  influential  member  keeps  his  influence. 

I  remember  the  case  of  a  messenger  in  Washing- 
ton, who  had,  to  use  his  own  expression,  "  an  awful 
time  of  it,  a  monstrous  awful  time  of  it,"  to  keep 
his  place.  He  had  been  made  a  messenger  in  the 
early  times  of  General  Jackson,  and  he  held  on  by 
the  force  of  his  politics  through  many  successions 
of  Secretaries,  up  to  the  time  of  General  Harrison's 
election,  when  he  began  to  fear  his  time  had 
come. 

I  had  gone  on  to  the  inauguration  of  Gen.  Har- 
rison, and  this  messenger  knew  that  I  was  trying 
to  save  the  heads  of  some  Democratic  friends  of 
mine ;  so  one  day,  when  he  was  out  of  hope,  and 
had  been  "keeping  his  spirits  up  by  pouring  spirits 
down,"  he  gave  me  his  confidence. 

"I  have  an  awful  time  of  it,  sir,"  said  he; 
"  awful  !  It's  my  duty  to  be  at  the  Secretary's 
door  and  announce  his  visitors  to  him;  in  that  way, 
you  understand,  I  make  the  personal  acquaint- 
ance of  the  Secretary,  and  he  gits  to  like  me,  and 
I  holds  on.  I  have  been  in  at  the  death  of  a 
great  many  messengers,  clerks,  and  even  Secre- 
taries, too,  but  I  feel  bilious  on  the  present  oc- 


LIFE  IN  WASHINGTON.  285 

casion,  though  I  havn't  said  a  word  ahout  politics 
since  Gen.  Harrison  has  been  elected.     What  kind 

of  a  man  is  the  present  Secretary,  Mr. ,  is  he 

an  abolitionist  or  not  ?" 

"  No,  he  is  not  an  abolitionist,"  I  replied ; 
"  though,  coming  from  a  free  State,  he  rather  leans 
that  way." 

"  He's  not  in  favor  of  these  regular  nigger- 
traders,  is  he  ?" 

"No,  I  should  rather  suppose  he  was  not;  no 
gentleman,  no  man  of  humanity  is  in  favor  of 
them." 

In  a  thoughtful  mood  Thompson  left  me.  A 
few  evenings  afterwards  he  came  to  my  room, 
a  sheet  or  two  in  the  wind,  and,  after  shaking  me 
cordially  by  the  hand,  he  took  a  seat,  observing, 
in  a  very  grateful  manner — 

"Mr.  Horace,  what  you  told  me  the  other  day 
about  the  Secretary's  abolition  notions  helped  me 
mightily.  Sir,  I've  had  my  neck  under  the  guillo- 
tine, hair  cut  close,  hands  tied  down,  and  every- 
thing ready  for  the  axe."  And  he  wiped  the  per- 
spiration from  his  forehead. 

"Ah!  well,  I  am  glad  you  are  alive  and  kicking 
officially  yet,"  I  rejoined. 

"It  was  just  touch  and  go;  it  happened  this 
morning." 

"Ah!" 

"  Yes.     You  know  Robinson,  the  nigger-dealer, 


286  LIFE  IN  WASHINGTON. 

who  has  the  pen  down  town,  Mr. ?     Well, 

I  thought  the  fellow  kind  of  looked  smirking  and 
consequential  at  me  ever  since  the  election.  I  sold 
him  a  nigger  once;  for,  messenger  as  I  am,  I  came 
from  one  of  the  first  families  in  Virginia,  one  of  the 
F.  F.  V.'s,  and  I  was  so  long  on  here,  waiting  for 
office,  that  I  had  to  sell  my  last  nigger.  I  had, 
that's  a  fact.  I  brought  the  fellow  on  here  to 
wait  on  me.  I  expected  nothing  short  of  a  big 
clerkship,  and  talked  of  a  foreign  mission ;  and 
here  I  am,  no  more  than  a  common  messenger." 

"  The  first  shall  be  last,  and  the  last  shall  be 
first,"  I  said. 

"Fact,  sir;  good  in  politics  as  well  as  religion. 
Well,  I  had  to  sell  Robinson  my  last  nigger;  and 
he  cheated  me  in  the  trade  wofully.  He  cut  South, 
and  sold  his  gang,  with  Ben,  before  I  got  one  cent 
of  my  money  ;  and  if  I  had  not  caught  him  in 
Baltimore,  and  put  the  screws  to  him,  and  put  him 
in  the  pen  there  for  debt,  I  never  should  have  got 
the  money.  He  had  to  pay,  but  he  swore  ven- 
geance against  me.  He's  down  here,  poor  as  I 
was  when  I  sold  that  last  nigger,  the  last  button 
on  Gabe's  coat.  He's  been  several  times  to  see 
the  Secretary ;  and  as  I  stand  at  the  door,  as  you 
know,  I  kind  of  bluffed  him  off,  till  at  last  he  swore 
he'd  inform  on  me  if  he  didn't  get  in;  and  he  came 
there  yesterday,  with  a  member  of  Congress,  and 
I  told  them  that  the  member  had  precedence,  but 


LIFE  IN  WASHINGTON.  287 

I  couldn't  let  him  in.  The  member  wanted  to  take 
him  in,  but  I  told  him  it  was  the  Secretary's  express 
orders  not  to  let  anybody  in  without  announcing 
him;  but  I  said,  i  Sir,  you  are  privileged,  being  a 
member,  a  thing  which  I  don't  exactly  agree  to 
in  a  free  country.'  " 

"  You  didn't  tell  him  that?" 

"  Indeed,  I  didn't.  I  let  him  in,  as  smiling  as 
a  basket  of  chips.  He  hadn't  been  in  two  minutes 
when  the  Secretary's  bell  rings ;  in  I  pops,  and  he 
tells  me  to  let  in  Robinson.  So  I  shows  him  in. 
The  fellow  had  a  paper  in  his  hand — an  awful- 
looking  paper.  I  took  close  note  of  it,  I  am  used 
to  papers. 

"It  seemed  to  have  a  line  drawn  down  the  centre 
of  the  paper,  and  names  on  each  side.  Signed  as 
I  live,  I  thought  an  application.  I'll  know  you 
again,  old-fellow,  I  said  to  myself  (to  the  paper), 
if  ever  I  should  see  you.  Maybe  I  didn't  listen 
at  that  door!  Generally,  I  don't  listen  over  par- 
ticularly at  anything  that's  a  going  on  in  the  Sec- 
retary's room;  because  I  know  it's  not  etiquette; 
but  who  thinks  of  etiquette  with  his  head  under 
the  guillotine,  except  some  fool  of  a  Frenchman. 

"Maybe  I  didn't  listen  at  that  door  !  I  heard 
the  Secretary  say  to  Robinson  that  his  recommend- 
ations were  very  strong,  and  that  he  would  think 
of  it.  Presently,  out  they  came — the  member  and 
Robinson,  and  the  scamp,  the  rascally  nigger  deal- 


288  LIFE  IN  WASHINGTON. 

er,  had  no  paper  in  his  hand;  I  smelt  a  rat,  I  did 
somehow,  and  that's  a  fact.  So  when  the  Secre- 
tary left  that  afternoon,  and  I  was  dusting  round, 
hang  me  if  I  didn't  see  that  very  paper  stowed 
away  back  in  his  drawer:  I  knowed  it  the  moment 
I  set  eyes  on  it,  just  as  a  revolutioner  would  have 
known  a  Britisher  from  his  red  coat.  What  do 
you  think  it  was  ?  Why,  it  set  forth  the  petitioner, 
Robinson,  as  a  Whig  of  the  first  water — had  spent 
a  great  deal  in  the  cause — had  reduced  himself  to 
poverty — was  fit  for  any  situation  that  could  be 
bestowed  upon  him — was  most  trustworthy — was 
most  especially  recommended  to  the  Secretary's 
personal  care  —  had  a  whole  list  of  signatures, 
senators,  members,  blackguards  —  couldn't  count 
'em  !  That's  not  all.  They  made  the  biggest  kind  of 
charges  against  me,  saying  I  drank — it's  enough 
to  make  a  man  drink  —  and  recommending  him 
for  my  place. 

"Well,  thinks  I,  if  I  am  a  gone  coon— I  never  was 
a  coon — I'm  a  gone  sucker." 

"  There's  many  a  slip  'tween  the  cup  and  the 
lip,"  I  said. 

"Yes,  sir,  but  what  you  told  me  about  Secretary's 
abolition  notions  did  the  thing.  Ever  since  I  sold 
that  last  nigger,  I've  been  a  bit  of  an  abolitionist 
myself.  Says  he  to  me  next  day— he's  getting 
very  polite  to  me  lately,  and  always  calls  me  Mis- 
ter— says   he,  '  Mr.   Thompson  what   kind    of   a 


LIFE  IN  WASHINGTON.  289 

man  is  Robinson,  who  came  here  yesterday  from 
your  State  V  I  pretended  not  to  know  what  kind 
of  a^man  he  was.  '  I  mean  what  is  his  vocation — 
his  business  V  he  said,  playing  with  Robinson's 
recommendation,  which  he  had  just  taken  out  of 
the  drawer.  '  Why,  sir,'  I  replied,  looking  awful 
sorrowful,  'he's  a  nigger-dealer!'  'A  nigger- 
dealer!'  he  cried.  'Yes,  sir,'  says  I,  'he  keeps 
the  pen  down  yonder  by  the  Capitol.'  The  Secre- 
tary started  up,  walked  up  and  down  the  room 
two  or  three  times,  and  just  chucked  Mr.  Robin- 
son's recommendation  in  the  fire.  I  stood  awhile 
till  I  saw  the  paper  all  ablaze,  just  as  Robinson's 
soul  will  be  all  ablaze  some  of  these  days,  and  I 
left  the  Secretary  signing  papers." 


25 


LIFE   IN  WASHINGTON 


CONTINUED. 


OTHER  DIFFICULTIES  WHICH  MR.  THOMPSON, 
SECRETARY'S  MESSENGER,  HAD  IN  RETAIN- 
ING HIS  PLACE. 


"Hold  on." — Commonphro.se. 

The  "little  month"  of  General  Harrison's  power, 
my  acquaintance,  Thompson,  held  on  to  his  office 
without  farther  trouble.  I  knew  the  General  very 
well  when  I  first  emigrated  West,  and  before  he 
had  been  announced  as  a  candidate  for  the  presi- 
dency. The  easy  familiarity  and  hospitality  with 
which  he  had  received  me  at  the  "  Bend,"  gave  me 
a  frankness  toward  him  which  perchance  I  should 
not  have  felt,  had  I  not  known  him  before  his 
elevation  to  the  presidency. 

"  There's  a  divinity  doth  hedge  a  king," 

says  the  great  portrayer  of  human    nature ;   and 


LIFE  IN  WASHINGTON.  291 

there's  a  divinity  doth  hedge  power  everywhere, 
in  a  republic  as  well  as  a  monarchy  —  a  presi- 
dent as  well  as  a  potentate  of  more  patrician 
title  and  longer  reign.  And  few  kings  have  more 
real  power,  and  certainly  few  exercise  as  much  as 
the  President  of  the  United  States. 

Suspecting,  from  what  Thompson  told  me  of  the 
"  nigger-dealer's"  attempt  to  get  his  office,  that 
he  held  it  by  rather  a  ticklish  tenure,  I  took  the 
liberty  of  speaking  to  General  Harrison  about  him  ; 
and  General  Harrison  expressed  a  wish  to  the  Sec- 
retary, as  I  afterward  understood,  that  Thompson 
should  be  retained.  The  President's  wish  is,  of 
course,  law  in  such  matters,  as  the  following  anec- 
dote of  General  Jackson  will  show:  A  vacancy 
occurred,  during  his  administration,  in  the  bureau 
of  one  of  the  auditors,  and  General  Jackson  wrote 
a  very  strong  letter  of  recommendation  to  the 
auditor  in  behalf  of  a  young  man  from  Tennessee, 
with  whose  fitness  and  character  the  General  was 
well  acquainted.  With  the  letter  in  hand,  the  ap- 
plicant called  upon  the  auditor,  who  replied  that 
he  had  the  highest  regard  for  the  President's  re- 
commendation, but  that  Mr.  Burns  was  so  variously 
and  strongly  recommended  that  he  should  be  com- 
pelled to  fill  the  vacancy  with  his  name.  The  ap- 
plicant quietly  took  up  his  letter  and  withdrew; 
and  with  Western  frankness  and  somewhat  chagrin 
repaired  to  the  White  House,  and   returned  the 


292  LIFE  IN  WASHINGTON. 

General  his  letter.  "What's  the  matter?"  asked 
the  old  chief. 

"  He  says  he  can't  give  it  to  me,  General." 

"  Why  not?"  was  the  quick  inquiry. 

"  He  says  he  has  the  highest  respect  for  your 
recommendation,  but  Mr.  Burns  is  so  strongly  and 
variously  recommended  that  he  feels  compelled  to 
give  it  to  him." 

"  Mr.  Burns  is  his  relative,  sir.  Compelled  to 
give  it  to  him!"  And  so  saying,  he  pulled  the 
bell  sharply.  "  To  have  the  highest  respect  for 
my  recommendation  is  to  follow  it." 

"Tell,"  he  said  to  the  messenger,  "tell  the 
auditor  I  wish  to  see  him.  Keep  your  seat,  sir," 
to  the  Tennesseean. 

In  a  few  minutes,  the  auditor  made  his  appear- 
ance. 

The  General,  whose  placidity  apparently  had  re- 
turned to  him,  asked  the  startled  official  why  he  had 
not  given  the  situation  to  the  young  gentleman 
whom  he  recommended. 

"  Why,  Mr.  President,  Mr.  Burns  is  so  strongly 
recommended." 

"  I  know  Mr.  Burns,  sir ;  he  is  your  relative, 
sir ;  and  I  also  know  this  gentleman  ;  and  I  should 
like  to  know  whose  recommendation  is  stronger 
than  that  of  the  President  of  the  United  States?" 

The  Tennesseean  got  the  office ;  and  it  is  need- 
less to  say  the  auditor  came  near  losing  his. 


LIFE  IN  WASHINGTON.  293 

Thompson,  in  the  snug  enjoyment  of  his  office, 
felt  an  increased  respect  for  General  Harrison,  and 
began  to  think  he  would  let  politics  alone — when, 
lo  !  death,  the  king  of  kings  and  president  of  pre- 
sidents, laid  the  chief  in  the  place  appointed  for 
all  the  living.  Here  I  could  read  a  homily;  but  no 
matter.  The  query  soon  was,  which  way  is  "  Cap- 
ting  Tyler"  about  to  break,  whom  Mr.  Botts  is 
bound  "to  head  or  die?"  Thompson  smirked  over 
the  idea  that  "  Capting  Tyler"  was  said  by  the 
Whigs  to  have  some  of  the  original  sin  of  Jack- 
sonism  about  him  ;  but  he  said  nothing,  as  it 
was  understood  that  Mr.  Tyler  would  retain  Gene- 
ral Harrison's  cabinet.  Soon,  however,  rumor  was 
rife  that  President  Tyler  and  his  Cabinet  could  not 
agree ;  and  that  there  was  going  to  be  a  break  up. 
Yet  the  public  knew  nothing  about  it.  Thompson 
had  strong  suspicions  that  all  was  not  right,  and 
while  he  was  fearing  what  would  be  the  state  of 
things  under  a  new  Secretary  of  Mr.  Tyler's  ap- 
pointment, fears  of  the  incumbent,  who  had  no 
longer  the  wishes  of  General  Harrison  to  restrain 
him,  came  over  him. 

"  Thunder  on  this  office-holding,"  he  said  to  me, 
one  day  ;  "  our  Secretary  begins  to  call  me  Mis- 
ter ;  it's  no  longer  plain  Thompson.  I'm  afraid 
he's  agoing  to  butcher  me.  I  might  have  been  safe 
if  the  old  General  had  lived,  but  hang  it,  this 
25* 


294  LIFE  IN  WASHINGTON. 

Secretary  can   scent  the  least  drop  of  Locofoco 
blood  in  a  man,  and  he's  bound  to  have  him  out." 

I  tried  all  I  could  to  cheer  Thompson,  but  his 
fears  proved  but  too  true ;  for  one  da j  he  came  to 
me  and  said  — 

"Well,  the  thing's  up;  my  head's  off,  clean." 

"  'Taint  possible  !" 

"  Clean  gone,  sir." 

"  Well,  but  you  are  not  absolutely  removed  ?" 

"  No  ;  but  the  Secretary  gave  me  notice  that  he 
should  want  my  place  next  Monday;  and  I  think 
I'll  go  at  once,  and  see  what  I  can  do  for  myself." 

"What  did  he  say  to  you?" 

"  Nothing.  He  was  up  and  down  ;  he  just  told 
me  that  he  wanted  my  place." 

"Well,"  said  I,  "hold  on;  Captain  Tyler  and 
his  cabinet  have  had  a  muss.  The  Secretary  told 
me  himself  that  he  quits  to-morrow.  Say  nothing 
about  it,  but  hold  on." 

"W-h-e-w!"  ejaculated  Thompson,  '"There's 
many  a  slip  'tween  the  cup  and  the  lip ;'  maybe 
I'm  as  good  as  old  gold,  yet." 

And  so  it  turned  out;  for  the  Secretary  left 
with  Mr.  Tyler's  retiring  cabinet,  and  perhaps 
never  once  thought  again  of  his  humble  messenger. 

Like  Mr.  Webster,  Thompson  "breathed  freer" 
for  awhile ;  but  he  was  all  on  nettles  to  learn  who  the 
new  Secretaries  would  be.  So  were  the  public; 
many  expressing  the  opinion  that  President  Tyler 


LIFE  IN  WASHINGTON.  295 

could  not  get  a  cabinet,  A  friend  told  me,  that 
upon  such  a  remark  being  repeated  to  President 
Tyler,  he  replied :  "  That  the  situation  and  the 
salary  would  command  the  best  talent  in  the  land, 
to  say  nothing  of  what  patriotism  might  do  in 
the  premises."  Certainly,  Mr.  Tyler  had  a  good 
cabinet. 

"  What  kind  of  a  gentleman  is  this  new  Secre- 
tary ?"  asked  Mr.  Thompson  of  me,  one  day. 

"  There  you  have  me,  Thompson.  I  don't  know 
him." 

"  Is  he  a  free  liver?  does  he  drink  any?" 

"  I  don't  know.  I  understand  he  is  a  member 
of  the  church." 

"Well,"  said    Thompson;    "between  you  and 

me,  Mr. ,  I  doubt  if  it  will  last  him.     I  heard 

somebody  say,  the  other  day,  that  John  McLean, 
the  Judge  of  the  Supreme  Court,  and  a  Methodist 
at  that,  was  the  only  man  who  brought  his  reli- 
gion to  Washington,  and  I  believe  it." 

"Yes,"  I  replied,  "it  is  certainly  true  of  Judge 
McLean." 

"  And  this  new  Secretary  belongs  to  the  church, 
hey  ?     I  wonder  if  he  is  a  temperance  man  ?" 

"I  don't  know — I  believe  he  is." 

"W-h-e-w!  there'll  be  all  sorts  of  charges  against 
me,  now — all  sorts.  I  bet  you,  sir,  they'll  have  a 
dozen  certificates  as  to  my  drinking." 

Thompson,  on  the  strength  of  the  fear  that  these 


298  LIFE  IN  WASHINGTON. 

certificates  would  be  produced,  took  a  regular 
spree ;  and  on  leaving  the  gallery  of  the  House  of 
Representatives,  whither  he  had  repaired  to  curry 
favor  with  the  M.  C's,  he  made  a  misstep,  and  fell — 
tumbled  all  the  way  down  stairs,  to  the  great  dam- 
age of  his  nose,  eyes,  and  character.  He  was  laid 
up.  He  sent  me  a  very  humble  message,  would  I 
would  call  and  see  him  ?  and  I  did  so.  Poor  fel- 
low !  he  was  terribly  bruised,  and  but  for.  the  fact 
of  his  having  been  drunk  when  he  fell,  he  would 
probably  have  killed  himself.  He  made  all  kinds 
of  inquiry  of  me  as  to  what  I  had  heard  of,  or 
about  him,  &c,  &c,  repeating  them  over  and  over 
again. 

"  Oh  !"  said  I,  "  Captain  Tyler  is  a  Virginian  ; 
you  must  see  him,  and  let  him  know  that  you  are 
one  of  the  F.  F.  V's,  and  he  will  save  you." 

"  Well,  sir,"  replied  Thompson,  raising  himself 
upon  his  arm,  in  the  bed,  "  it's  astonishing  what 
regard  the  first  families  in  Virginia  have  for  one 
another.  Here  I've  been  sick  nine  days — it  was 
thought  I  would  die — and  every  day  there  was  a 
gentleman  came  to  inquire  after  my  health ;  he 
wouldn't  leave  his  name,  he  only  said  he  was  a 
Virginian.  I'll  lay  my  life  he  knew  my  family  ; 
as  soon  as  I  get  out  I  must  hunt  him  up,  and  re- 
turn my  thanks." 

When  Thompson  recovered,  he  learned  that  this 


LIFE  IN  WASHINGTON.  297 

anxious  inquirer  after  his  daily  health  had  under- 
stood he  was  about  to  die,  and  had  obtained  a  pro- 
mise from  the  Secretary  that  if  he  (Thompson) 
should  "shuffle  off  this  mortal  coil,"  that  he  (the 
anxious  inquirer  aforesaid)  should  have  his  place  ! 


THE   DEVELOPMENT 


OF 


MIND   AND   CHARACTER 


As  we  turn  over  the  pages  of  history,  the  events 
of  by-gone  days  pass  before  the  mind  like  a 
splendid  panorama,  glittering  and  gorgeous,  mak- 
ing an  impression  of  vastness  and  power  ;  but 
which,  from  its  very  expansion,  leaves  but  an  in- 
distinct recollection,  in  which  the  smaller  objects 
are  so  overshadowed  by  the  larger,  that  they 
escape  the  observation. 

We  mark  the  mighty  stream  that  rolls  by,  and 
in  the  contemplation  of  its  greatness,  we  think 
not  of  its  source,  or  of  its  many  tributaries. 

To  know  men,  we  must  study  them.  History 
tells  us  how  they  acted,  and  gives  us  the  peculiari- 
ties of  an  age.  Biography  informs  us  why  they 
acted;  gives  the  motives  and  the  means;  and  holds 
the  mirror  up  so  closely  that  we  can  scan  every 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  MIND  AND  CHARACTER.  299 

beauty  and  detect  every  blemish.  In  biography, 
we  pass  into  a  man's  chamber  with  the  familiarity 
of  an  acquaintance.  History  keeps  us  aloof  for 
the  pomp  of  the  gala  day. 

We  recur  again  and  again  to  the  memory  of 
those  departed  friends,  who  have  gone  before  us  to 
the  undiscovered  country ;  while  imagination  pic- 
tures their  very  tone,  and  form,  and  manner,  until 
they  seem  to  stand  in  our  very  presence,  and  live 
over  again  the  busy  scene  which  has  passed. 

With  a  feeling  akin  to  this,  we  delight  to  refer 
to  those  who  have  excited  our  admiration  or  our 
wonder.  We  read  again  and  again  of  their  rise, 
their  progress,  and  their  success  ;  and  we  delight  to 
dwell  on  every  glowing  scene  in  which  they  figured, 
until  they  seem  to  stand  in  our  presence  and  to 
live.  How  thrilling  is  the  recollection  of  the 
mighty  dead  !  By  it  all  the  affections  have  been 
ennobled,  piety  endeared,  charity  enkindled.  It 
has  weakened  every  vice,  and  strengthened  every 
virtue. 

To  study  what  may  be  called  the  philosophy  of 
character,  we  must  know  all  the  circumstances 
that  formed  it.  Not  only  the  diversity  of  scenes 
through  which  the  individual  passed,  but  also  the 
effect  which  they  produced  upon  his  character  as 
he  underwent  their  mutations.  How  much  we  are 
all  influenced  by  the  scenes  around  us  —  by 
friends,  fortune,  foes  ;  by  sickness  and  by  health  ; 


300  THE  DEVELOPMENT 

by  every  variety  of  being ;  by  the  past,  by  the 
present,  and  by  our  anticipations  of  the  future. 
To  the  sanguine  temperament,  hope  lends  her 
thousand  allurements  ;  on  the  melancholy,  doubt 
and  dismay  obtrude  their  thousand  misgivings — 
glimmerings  of  hope  that  end  in  fears,  and  fears 
that  end  in  despair. 

Men  of  talents,  more  than  other  men,  suffer 
under  these  varieties  and  mutations  of  feeling. 
Their  acute  sensibilities,  their  pride,  their  con- 
sciousness of  talent,  their  ambition — all  influence 
them  at  once,  or  by  turns,  and  have  made  so  many 
of  them  unhappy,  even  when  all  they  hoped  for 
was  accomplished.  How  much  keener  were  these 
influences  when  doubts  and  difficulties  surrounded 
them ;  when,  in  their  early  struggles,  they  knew 
not  what  the  morrow  would  bring  forth;  and  when, 
judging  from  the  past,  it  must  bring  forth  anything 
but  joy.  To  such,  in  their  moments  of  despondency, 
when  ambition  beckoned  them  on,  and  stern  and 
cold  reality  weighed  them  down,  the  prospect  was 
almost  as  dark  as  Cato's  in  contemplating  death  : — 

"  Through  what  new  scenes  and  changes  must  I  pass? 
The  wide,  the  unbounded  prospect  lies  before  me; 
But  shadows,  clouds,  and  darkness  rest  upon  it." 

Providence,  as  if  for  the  purpose  of  making  each 
man's  cup  contain  an  equal  portion  of  those  ingre- 
dients which  constitute  happiness,  gives  to  him, 


OF  MIND  AND  CHARACTER.  301 

whose  natural  gifts  are  superior  to  another,  ills  of 
which  the  other  never  dreamed.  She  gives  him 
the  unquiet  of  ambition  and  sensitiveness,  which 
those  who  have  taken  up  their  abode  in  the  valley 
never  feel.  They  reflect  that  Content,  the  wise 
man's  personification  of  all  earthly  good,  sits  smil- 
ing at  their  door;  and  what,  without  it,  are  sway, 
and  empire,  and  glory  ?  And  yet  there  are  few 
who  do  not  feel  the  thirst  of  emulation,  the  panting 
to  reach  the  goal,  when  they  reflect  upon  those  who 
have  reached  it.  They  forget  how  many  have  fallen 
in  the  race ;  how  many  have  been  pushed  aside  by 
the  strong  and  the  determined,  who,  in  their  turn, 
have  shrunk  from  those  of  higher  powers.  How 
much  circumstances  have  done,  circumstances  which 
seemed  but  a  feather,  wind-wafted  any  and  every- 
where !  How  often  the  best  laid  schemes,  the  pro- 
foundest  plots,  the  most  cunning  contrivances,  have 
passed  away  like  the  bubble  in  the  stream,  or  turned 
to  the  ruin  of  those  who  were  exulting  in  their 
handiwork!  How  often  the  best  talents,  adorned 
with  every  virtue,  have  fallen  before  inferior  talents, 
disgraced  with  every  vice.  Yet,  nevertheless,  the 
development  of  the  talents  and  character  of  those 
who  have  struggled  through  difficulties  and  danger 
to  eminence  and  power,  is  interesting  and  instruct- 
ing; no  matter  whether  the  individual  used  good  or 
bad  means  to  attain  his  ends.  And  if  interest 
attaches  to  him  who  struggles  ardently  in  a  bad 
26 


302  THE  DEVELOPMENT 

cause,  how  much  more  does  he  excite  who  struggles 
nobly  in  a  good  one?  Our  Washington,  no  doubt, 
in  contemplating  the  actions  of  Caesar  and  Crom- 
well, felt  that  if  they  dared  so  much  for  mere 
selfishness,  he  could  dare  more  for  patriotism  ; 
that  if  they  pledged  life  and  fortune  for  their  suc- 
cess, he  would  pledge  "  life,  fortune,  and  sacred 
honor,"  for  the  success  of  his  country.  Besides, 
to  show  to  aspiring  ambition  the  rock  on  which  so 
many  split,  victims  to  unhallowed  passions,  is  as 
salutary  as  the  Spartan's  practice,  when  he  exhi- 
bited his  intoxicated  slave  to  his  sons,  that  they 
might  shun  the  beastly  vice  to  which  the  menial 
was  a  victim.  And  again,  to  show,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  undaunted  perseverance  with  which  so 
many  great  men  have  struggled  in  a  good  cause,  is 
to  lead  by  the  hand  the  unsteady  and  the  wavering 
until  their  foothold  is  sure.  A  great  author  used 
to  observe  that,  whenever  he  sat  down  to  write,  he 
always  placed  the  Iliad  on  the  table  open  before 
him.  "For,"  said  he,  "I  like  to  light  my  taper 
at  the  sun."  And,  certainly,  the  actions  of  an 
illustrious  individual  may  be  said  to  be  a  great 
moral  luminary,  from  which  all  who  choose  may 
borrow  light.  That  which  elevates  us  above  the 
brute,  which  does  us  servicers  moral  energy;  which, 
like  the  fabled  gift  of  the  alchemist,  extracted  gold — 
golden  rules,  I  mean — from  everything  around  us. 


OF  MIND  AND  CHARACTER.  303 

It  determines  us,  in  the  pursuit  of  that  which  we 
seek,  with  the  spirit  which  may  become  a  man. 

The  man  of  natural  capacity,  who  relies  upon 
his  sagacity  and  disregards  books,  often,  it  is  true, 
takes  a  just  view  of  men  and  things  ;  but  he  is  very 
apt  to  think  that  events,  which  have  happened  be- 
fore his  eyes,  are  the  most  wonderful  that  ever  did 
happen,  because  he  is  not  familiar  with  those  of 
other  times;  and  he  will  exaggerate  an  occurrence 
of  comparatively  little  moment  for  a  very  natural 
reason,  it  is  the  most  remarkable  he  has  heard  of 
or  witnessed.  On  the  other  hand,  the  mere  book- 
worm is  worse  than  he  who  disregards  books;  be- 
cause he  is  perpetually  endeavoring  to  mould  the 
occurrences  of  the  day  with  some  fancied  theory 
of  the  past,  and  in  looking  at  events,  to  use  Dry- 
den's  expression,  "through  the  spectacle  of  books," 
he  is,  consequently,  more  apt  to  use  his  memory 
and  imagination  in  tracing  the  resemblances  of 
the  past  with  the  present,  than  his  judgment  in 
marking  their  differences  and  acting  accordingly. 
The  light  of  the  past  dazzles  him;  he  has  gazed  on 
it  too  much ;  and  when  he  turns  to  the  present,  if 
he  cannot  fashion  some  theory  of  compatibilities 
and  agreements,  he  is  bewildered  in  perplexities ; 
and,  if  he  does  fashion  a  theory,  it  is  one  to  which 
Utopia  is  a  commonplace. 

Some  men  would  have  to  new-mould  their  minds 
before  they  would  be  qualified  for  the  active  and 


304  THE  DEVELOPMENT 

stirring  scenes  of  life.  They  undertake  everything 
with  preconceived  notions  on  the  subject;  and, 
through  all  changes  of  circumstances  and  of  opinion, 
they  go  on  by  a  kind  of  predestination  in  the  path 
of  error.  Others,  again,  legitimate  descendants 
from  the  family  of  Wrongheads,  have,  as  they 
think,  a  natural  chart  to  discover  truth,  as  honest 
Jack  Falstaff  knew  the  true  prince  by  instinct ;  and 
by  instinct  they  blunder  on  all  their  lives.  Such 
persons,  in  an  intellectual  point,  belong  to  the  hos- 
pital of  incurables. 

There  is  an  anecdote,  happily  illustrative  of 
those  who  see  things  just  as  they  wish  to  see  them. 
An  old  clergyman,  and  the  lady  of  his  love,  who, 
though  rather  an  old  lady,  was  still  an  admirer 
of  the  romance  of  the  tender  passion,  were  once 
looking  through  a  telescope  at  the  moon. 

"My  gracious!"  exclaimed  the  lady;  "those 
two  figures,  who  incline  towards  each  other,  are 
evidently  two  lovers  who  have  met  after  a  long  ab- 
sence." "  Two  lovers  !"  exclaimed  the  astonished 
clergyman.  "  My  dear,  you  are  certainly  crazy; 
they  are  plainly  and  palpably  the  steeples  of  a 
church." 

To  watch  the  development  of  talent  is  one  of 
the  most  pleasing  studies  in  which  the  mind  can 
possibly  engage ;  for  the  whole  being  is  displayed 
before  us,  from  the  feverish  impulses  of  the  boy  to 
the  fixed  resolutions  of  the  man.  For  every  pas- 
sion acts  upon  the  intellect,  and  the  intellect  acts 


OF  MIND  AND  CHARACTER.  305 

upon  every  passion.  Ambition,  perhaps,  has  had 
more  martyrs  even  than  religion,  and  the  torch  of 
science  has  lighted  the  funeral  pyre  of  many  a 
victim. 

To  keep  the  mind  in  continued  action  requires 
the  strongest  motive.  Lord  Mansfield  loved  laugh- 
ingly to  observe  to  his  friends,  "  that  particularly 
favorable  circumstances,  fortune,  friends,  talents, 
often  made  a  great  lawyer;  but,"  said  he,  "  the 
best  thing  in  the  world  to  make  a  great  lawyer  is 
great  poverty."  There  is  much  truth  in  this  re- 
mark ;  and  it  would  seem  that  it  applied  with  equal 
force  to  talents  in  whatever  field  of  literature  or 
science  their  possessor  sought  to  become  distin- 
guished. So  prone  are  many  men  of  mind  to  in- 
dulgence and  ease,  that,  if  there  is  not  something 
always  goading  them  on,  they  are  very  likely  to 
stop  by  the  way,  like  the  traveller  in  the  shady 
spot,  until  night  overtakes  them,  when  they  are  apt 
to  lose  their  path,  and  spend  the  time  they  should 
be  pursuing  their  journey  in  seeking  to  find  it. 

Ambition  has  been  called  the  last  infirmity  of 
noble  minds ;  yet  how  often  is  it  the  first  impulse 
to  their  nobility  !  A  generous  emulation  acts  on 
the  mind  like  the  fairy  m  the  legend  of  romance, 
who  guided  her  votary,  amid  innumerable  difficul- 
ties and  dangers,  till  she  led  him  to  happiness. 
To  awaken  the  pupil's  ambition  should  be  the  first 
object  of  the  tutor ;  for,  until  that  be  awakened,  he 
26* 


306  '  THE  DEVELOPMENT 

will  teach  in  vain.  This  is  the  reason  why  so 
many  eminent  men  have  passed  through  school 
with  so  few  honors,  and  won  so  many  from  the 
wrorld.  They  have  been  "  the  glory  of  the  college 
and  its  shame;"  and  not  until  their  energies  were 
aroused,  and  their  ambition  called  forth,  by  the 
stirring  strife  of  the  world,  did  they  exhibit  those 
faculties  which  have  made  memorable  an  age  or  a 
country.  Had  not  these  men  genius  at  school  ? 
Certainly.  It  was  only  dormant,  like  the  strength 
of  the  sleeping  lion.  And  many  boys  have  been 
thought  duncss  at  school,  because  their  teachers 
had  not  penetration  and  sagacity  enough  to  dis- 
cover the  latent  spark  of  intellect  within  them. 

Swift's  college  mates  and  teachers  thought  him 
a  dunce  at  the  very  time  that  he  was  writing  his 
"Tale  of  a  Tub,"  the  rough  draft  of  which  he  then 
showed  to  his  friend  and  room-mate.  The  Tale 
was  not  published  until  many  years  afterwards. 
He  got  his  degrees  at  college  by  the  "  special  fa- 
vor" of  the  faculty,  as  it  stands  recorded  in  the 
archives.  It  appears  he  would  not  read  the  old 
works  on  logic,  but  preferred  laughing  over  Rabe- 
lais and  Cervantes.  His  teachers  did  not  under- 
stand his  character.  They  should  have  studied  it ; 
and  then  they  could  easily  have  controlled  him, 
and  have  prevented  the  lamentation  on  his  part,  in 
after-days,  that  he  had  thrown  away  seven  years  of 
his  life.      Let  those  students  of  talent  who  may 


OF  MIND  AND  CHARACTER.  307 

Lave  acted  as  Swift  did,  remember  what  Dr.  John- 
son said  of  him,  namely,  "  that  though  he  had 
thrown  away  seven  years  of  his  life  in  idleness,  he 
was  determined  not  to  throw  away  the  rest  in  de- 
spair." Doubtless  some  young  man,  who  ran  away 
with  all  the  honors  of  the  college  as  easily  as  all 
the  honors  of  the  world  afterwards  ran  away  from 
him,  used  to  quote  Swift  as  a  proverb  of  stupidity; 
and  it  was  this  after-resolution  of  Swift  that  gave 
him  the  world's  honors,  and  perhaps  contentment 
with  the  college  honors,  and  a  want  of  continued 
industry  that  caused  his  competitors  to  lose  them. 

One  of  Byron's  teachers  pointed  to  him  one  day, 
saying:  "  That  lame  brat  will  never  be  fit  for  any- 
thing but  to  create  broils."  Poor  Byron,  it  is  true, 
had  great  talents  for  creating  broils;  but  Dr.  Drury, 
another  of  his  teachers,  discovered  that  he  had  ta- 
lents of  a  far  higher  kind,  and  successfully  sought 
to  awaken  his  emulation.  It  is  pleasing  to  know 
that,  though  Byron  was  always  satirizing  his  other 
teachers,  and  setting  their  authority  at  defiance, 
for  Dr.  Drury  he  entertained  the  highest  respect, 
and  has  so  expressed  himself  in  language  that  will 
not  die. 

When  Scylla  was  about  proscribing  Csesar,  some 
one  asked  him  what  he  had  to  fear  from  that  loose- 
girdled  boy  !  "  In  that  loose-girdled  boy,"  said 
he,  "  I  see  many  promises."  Cromwell's  asso- 
ciates thought  him  a  foolish  fanatic;  and  it  was  his 


308  THE  DEVELOPMENT 

relation,  Hampden,  who  discovered  his  capacity, 
predicting  that  he  would  be  the  greatest  man  in 
the  kingdom,  should  a  revolution  occur. 

Patrick  Henry  gave  so  little  promise  of  mind, 
that,  when  he  went  to  be  examined  touching  his 
qualifications  to  practice,  one  of  the  gentlemen  who 
were  appointed  to  examine  him,  absolutely  refused 
the  duty,  he  was  so  struck  with  the  unpromising 
appearance  of  the  applicant.  Yet,  but  a  short  time 
afterwards,  Henry  made  his  great  speech  in  the 
Parsons  cause.  His  talents  were  so  little  known, ' 
even  to  his  father,  that  the  old  gentleman,  who  was 
one  of  the  Judges,  burst  into  tears  on  the  bench ; 
while  the  people  raised  their  champion  on  their 
shoulders,  and  bore  him  in  triumph  through  the 
streets.  How  much  sooner  would  have  been  the 
development  of  Henry's  mind  if  his  emulation  had 
been  earlier  aroused,  and  a  fit  opportunity  had  been 
given  him  for  display.  And  when  he  was  driving 
the  plough,  or  officiating  as  the  barkeeper  of  a 
common  tavern,  or  roaming  wild  through  the  woods 
in  pursuit  of  deer,  if  he  had  met  with  some  kind 
friend,  who  would  have  taken  him  by  the  hand, 
assisted  him  in  his  studies,  excited  his  ambition, 
talked  to  him  of  the  immortal  names  of  history, 
and  cheered  him  on  to  emulation,  we  should  now 
look  up  to  him,  not  only  as  our  Demosthenes,  but 
his  own  glowing  pages  would  have  been  the  best 
monument  of  his  renown. 


OF  MIND  AND  CHARACTER.  309 

Dr.  Barrow's  father  said,  that  if  it  pleased  the 
Lord  to  take  any  of  his  children,  he  hoped  it  would 
be  Isaac,  as  he  was  fit  for  nothing  but  to  fight  and 
set  two  dogs  fighting.  Nevertheless,  when  this 
Isaac  grew  to  manhood,  and  his  emulation  was 
awakened,  he  was  thought  in  mathematics  to  be 
inferior  only  to  Newton,  and  was  the  greatest 
divine  of  his  age. 

It  has  been  the  misfortune  of  a  great  many 
young  men  of  talent,  over  whom  the  dark  cloud 
lowered  in  their  younger  years,  to  be  placed  among 
those  who  did  not  understand  their  characters  or 
their  merits,  and  who  would  rather  crush  than 
assist  them.  And,  too,  there  is  a  passion  in  this 
world  called  envy — 

"That  fiend  that  haunts  the  great  and  good, 
Not  Cato  shunned  nor  Hercules  subdued" — 

that  ill-omened  bird  that,  like  the  raven  o'er  the 
haunted  house,  is  always  croaking  evil — that  will 
tower  at  the  highest  names  and  burrow  for  the 
lowest — that  twin  sister  of  jealousy,  which  has  so 
many  buts  and  ifs  to  throw,  like  stumbling-blocks, 
in  the  way  of  rising  talent.  At  that  time,  too, 
when  the  cheering  voice  of  a  friend  falls  upon  the 
ear  like  a  blessing  ;  when  darkness  and  doubt  are 
before  the  aspirant,  and  behind  him  all  the  ills  of 
life— 

"  Despair,  and  fell  disease,  and  ghastly  poverty," 


310  THE  DEVELOPMENT 

like  bloodhounds  from  the  slip — then  it  is  that 
envy  goes  forth,  like  the  assassin  at  night,  with 
the  felonious  intent  hot  at  heart,  against  the 
youthful  and  aspiring  genius.  How  easily,  like 
the  cameleon,  she  can  change  her  color,  and  fawn 
the  parasite  of  the  successful !  I  remember  once 
hearing  a  sycophantic  hanger-on  at  the  skirts  of 
the  bar,  who  was  neither  here  nor  there,  one  thing 
or  the  other,  but  between  the  two,  like  Mahomet's 
coffin,  compliment  the  late  Mr.  Wirt  on  an  effort 
which  that  gentleman  had  then  just  made,  and 
which  was  certainly  not  one  of  his  best.  "  Sir," 
said  Wirt,  in  a  deep  tone,  which  came  from  the 
bottom  of  his  heart,  "  when  a  youth  in  Virginia, 
in  a  little  debating  society,  to  an  audience  of  six, 
and  one  tallow  candle,  about  fourteen  to  the  pound, 
I  have  made  a  better  speech  than  that,  when  there 
was  no  one  to  discover  the  merit  of  it,  and  none  to 
say,  '  God  speed  you.'  " 

Doctor  Parr,  the  celebrated  teacher,  who  used 
to  boast  that  he  had  flogged  all  the  bishops  in  the 
kingdom,  and  who,  whenever  it  was  said  that  such 
and  such  a  person  had  talents,  would  exclaim, 
"  Yes,  sir,  yes,  sir,  there's  no  doubt  of  it ;  I  have 
flogged  him  often,  and  I  never  throw  a  flogging 
away."  This  reverend  gentleman  was  remarkable 
for  discovering  the  hidden  talents  of  his  pupils. 
He  was  the  first  who  discovered  Sheridan's.  He 
says :  "  I  saw  it  in  his  eye,  and  in  the  vivacity  of 


OF  MIND  AND  CHARACTER.  311 

his  manner,  though,  as  a  hoy,  Sheridan  was  quite 
careless  of  literary  fame."  Afterwards,  when 
Richard  felt  ambitious  of  such  honors,  he  was 
thrown,  as  Dr.  Parr  says,  "upon  the  town,"  with- 
out resources,  and  left  to  his  own  wild  impulses. 
This,  no  doubt,  was  the  cause  of  many  of  Sheri- 
dan's errors  and  wanderings,  which  checkered  the 
whole  of  his  splendid  but  wayward  career.  A 
teacher  wanting  the  observation  of  Dr.  Parr,  might 
have  concluded  that  because  Sheridan  would  not 
study,  and  no  inducements  could  make  him  apply 
himself,  he  wanted  capacity.  This  was  the  case 
with  Dr.  Wythe,  his  first  teacher,  who  did  not  dis- 
tinguish between  the  want  of  capacity  and  the 
want  of  industry.  It  appears,  from  the  exploits  of 
the  apple-loft  and  the  partiality  which  Sheridan's 
school-mates  entertained  for  him,  that  he  was  more 
ambitious  of  being  the  first  at  play  than  the  first 
at  study.  Sheridan  had  not  then  verified  the  pro- 
verb, of  "Good  at  work,  good  at  play;"  but  it 
often  happens  that  he  who  wins  the  game  among 
boys,  afterwards  wins  the  game  among  men,  when 
there  is  a  far  deeper  stake,  and  when,  too,  there  is 
not  half  so  much  mirth  among  the  losers,  and, 
alas,  not  half  so  much  happy-heartedness  with  the 
winner. 

A  great  man  is  almost  always  a  great  boy  ;  that 
is,  in  proportion  as  the  man  is  superior  to  the  men 
around   him,   the    boy  was  superior   to  the    boys 


312  THE  DEVELOPMENT 

around  him  in  everything  in  which  he  sought  to 
be  superior.  I  do  think  that  an  observer  of  cha- 
racter will  discover  this,  if  he  at  all  applies  himself 
to  trace  the  history  of  the  mind. 

Locke  tells  us,  and  it  is  generally  admitted 
among  metaphysicians  that  he  tells  us  truly — 
that  we  have  no  innate  ideas — that  sensation  and 
reflection  originate  them  in  the  mind,  which,  until 
they  make  their  impress,  is  like  a  blank  sheet  of 
paper.  Now,  if  it  is  sensation  and  reflection  which 
write  ideas  upon  the  mind,  of  course  the  intellect 
depends  greatly  upon  circumstances  to  develop  it, 
and  give  it  that  bias  of  thought  which  seems  like 
instinct  to  determine  its  possessor  to  a  particular 
pursuit :  for  instance,  to  poetry,  oratory,  mathe- 
matics, or  mechanics.  The  poet,  the  orator,  the 
mathematician,  or  the  mechanic,  will  often  tell  you 
that  he  felt  a  great  inclination  to  devote  himself  to 
his  particular  vocation  ;  and  he  will  tell  you,  too, 
whence  he  received  it ;  but  you  will  immediately 
reflect  that  many  have  been  placed  in  his  situation 
without  feeling  the  least  propensity  towards  that 
pursuit.  Observing  an  apple  fall  from  a  tree,  led 
Newton  to  his  sublime  speculations  and  discoveries; 
but  how  many  have  observed  an  apple  fall,  in  whose 
minds  the  inquiry  never  arose,  Why  did  it  fall? 
and  how  many  have  asked  themselves  why  it  fell, 
without  pursuing  the  subject  farther  than  the  in- 
quiry; and  how  few,  if  they  had  pursued  the  in- 


OF  MIND  AND  CHARACTER.  313 

quiry,  would  have  arrived  at  the  correct  conclu- 
sion. 

The  biography  of  many  eminent  men  teaches  us 
that,  in  their  early  contemplations,  they  felt  many 
impulses  to  different  pursuits  at  different  times, 
which  arose  from  an  unaccountable  train  of  reflec- 
tions suggesting  themselves  to  their  minds;  or,  what 
is  oftener  the  case,  the  impulse  originated  on  read- 
ing the  life  or  stuclvino;  the  work  of  some  eminent 
man. 

The  first  wish  of  Julius  Caesar  was  to  be  an 
orator ;  and,  according  to  Sallust  and  others,  his 
qualifications  for  oratory  were  of  the  highest  or- 
der. He  might  have  been  the  first  orator  of  Rome  ; 
he  preferred  being  the  first  warrior.  Lord  Mans- 
field's first  wish  was  to  excel  in  poetry.  Pope  says 
of  him  — 

"  Oh  !  what  an  Ovid  was  in  Murray  lost." 

So  was  it  with  Burke,  Sheridan,  and  Canning.  Dr. 
Franklin  says,  that  if  his  father  had  not  dissuaded 
him  from  poetry,  he  feared  he  should  have  been  but 
a  bad  verse-maker.  Dr.  Johnson  set  off  from  Litch- 
field to  London  with  an  unfinished  tragedy  in  his 
pocket — all  that  he  had  in  the  world.  Blackstone, 
the  celebrated  author  of  the  "  Commentaries,"  was 
passionately  fond  of  poetry ;  and  his  "  Farewell  to 
the  Muse,"  which  he  wrote  on  commencing  law, 
shows  that  he  had  a  talent  for  it.  Byron's  first 
27 


314  THE  DEVELOPMENT 

passion  was  for  oratory.  Dugald  Stewart,  the 
celebrated  author  of  a  work  on  the  mind,  contem- 
plated writing  an  epic  poem,  but  abandoned  the 
idea  to  devote  himself  to  metaphysics. 

Sir  Humphrey  Davy,  on  leaving  poetry  for  phi- 
losophy, thus  expressed  himself: — 

"  Once  to  the  sweetest  dreams  resigned, 
The  fairy  fancy  pleased  my  mind, 

And  shone  upon  my  youth  ; 
But  now,  to  awful  reason  given, 
I  leave  her  dear  ideal  heaven, 
To  hear  the  voice  of  truth." 

The  first  mental  impulse  of  Chief- Justice  Marshall 
was  to  poetry.  As  Americans,  we  may  congratu- 
late ourselves  that,  when  the  muses  lost  a  favorite, 
the  law  gained  a  votary,  whose  sagacity,  judgment, 
impartiality  and  patriotism  have  never  been  sur- 
passed. He  held  the  scales  of  Justice  with  an  im- 
partial hand,  amidst  all  the  conflicting  claims  of 
the  sovereign  States,  and  amidst  all  the  agitations 
of  party  violence ;  and  he  has  made  sure,  and 
safe,  and  firm,  all  the  great  landmarks  of  consti- 
tutional law.  There  was  not  a  spot  upon  his 
ermine.  Peace  to  his  ashes,  and  eternity  to  his 
memory  ! 

It  would  seem  as  if  fortune  had  thrown  impedi- 
ments in  the  way  of  many  eminent  men,  merely  to 
test  them,  as  the  Spartan  boy  was  compelled  to 


OF  MIND  AND  CHARACTER.  315 

undergo  the  severest  trials   of    skill  previous  to 
being  admitted  to  the  companionship  of  men. 

The  governments  of  Greece  and  Rome  were 
happily  suited  to  foster  emulation  and  energy  in 
their  youths,  and  to  fit  them  for  the  highest  exer- 
tions and  the  most  desperate  enterprises.  The 
prizes  awarded  to  the  successful  at  their  various 
trials  of  physical  and  intellectual  strength,  at  their 
shows,  in  their  schools,  and  on  all  public  occasions, 
promoted  and  encouraged  the  ambition  of  the  par- 
ties, and  made  it  the  constant  study  of  their  lives 
to  excel.  Intellectual  power,  of  whatever  kind, 
or  to  whatever  purpose  devoted,  was  almost  deified 
by  the  ancients;  and  every  person,  from  the  highest 
patrician  to  the  lowest  plebeian,  might  be  said, 
from  the  smallness  of  the  ancient  republics,  to 
come  under  the  influence  of  its  possessor.  There- 
fore it  was  that  every  art  was  practised  to  obtain 
popularity ;  for,  in  a  city  with  the  government  and 
manners  of  Athens  or  Rome,  popularity  was 
power,  place,  emolument  —  everything  to  which 
ambition  could  aspire.  Mind  will  govern  wherever 
it  has  a  fair  opportunity  of  displaying  itself.  We 
observe  the  truth  of  this  remark  in  every  diversity 
of  civilized  and  savage  life.  It  is  more  the  intel- 
lect of  the  Indian  than  the  prowess  of  his  arm 
that  makes  him  leader.  What  an  influence,  for 
instance,    Tecumseh,    who   has    been   called    the 


316  THE  DEVELOPMENT 

"  Napoleon  of  the  West,"  possessed  over  the  vari- 
ous tribes  of  his  people  ! 

Demosthenes  addressing  the  "  stormy  wave  of 
the  multitude,"  Napoleon  upon  the  field  of  battle, 
Washington  in  so  many  situations  of  his  eventful 
life,  exhibited  the  highest  powers  of  human  energy. 
It  is  in  such  situations  that  the  force  of  the  mind 
is  tried ;  and  a  great  one,  then,  like  the  oak,  gathers 
strength  from  the  very  fury  of  the  storm. 

Certainly  this  energy,  and  self-control,  and 
power  of  controlling  others,  arise  in  a  great  mea- 
sure from  education  and  the  force  of  circumstances; 
but  much  of  it  must  also  arise  from  what  we  can- 
not account  for,  if  we  do  not  attribute  it  to  an 
idiosyncrasy  of  the  mental  constitution. 

How  many  of  those  who  wished  to  march  against 
Thilip,  quailed  if  Demosthenes  was  not  by  ?  It 
was  the  mind  of  Napoleon  which  won  the  great 
battles  of  his  armies ;  and  our  fathers  might  long 
have  continued  the  subjects  of  England,  had  they 
not  been  guided  by  the  wisdom  and  virtue  of 
Washington. 

Trace  the  characters  of  these  men  in  their  habits, 
their  feelings,  their  impulses,  and  their  associations, 
and  will  you  not  find  that  the  boy  was  the  minia- 
ture of  the  man  ? 

The  remark  is  as  old  as  Cicero,  and  its  truth  has 
made  it  a  proverb,  that  if  a  man  has  excellence  of 
one  kind  the  world  will  deny  that  he  has  excellence 


OF  MIND  AND  CHARACTER.  317 

of  another.  Burke's  enemies  used  to  say  :  "Burke 
has  no  judgment,  he  has  too  much  imagination." 
Chatham,  it  was  said,  declaimed  so  well  that  it  was 
evident  he  could  not  reason.  Sheridan  was  pro- 
nounced too  witty  to  be  wise.  If  you  have  an  in- 
tellectual gift  which  your  neighbor  has  not,  he 
thinks  it  almost  a  matter  of  impossibility  that  you 
should  have  it.  And  he  will  immediately  tell  some 
such  tale  of  you  as  the  envious- Cassius  told  Brutus 
of  Caesar : — 

"  I  can  endure  the  winter's  cold 
As  well  as  he." 

Demosthenes  had  more  sublimity  of  thought  than 
any  orator  of  his  time.  Who  had  the  best  judg- 
ment ?  Demosthenes.  Cicero  had  more  wit  and 
imagination  than  any  orator  of  Rome.  Had  he 
not  as  profound  judgment  ?  Chatham  had  more 
imagination  and  greater  powers  of  declamation 
than  any  statesman  of  his  age.  Had  any  of  them 
greater  sagacity,  knowledge,  or  penetration  ?  Who 
had  greater  powers  of  declamation  than  Canning? 
Brougham  has ;  and  has  he  not  more  judgment 
than  fell  to  the  lot  of  the  departed  premier? 
Charles  James  Fox  pronounced  Napoleon's  bulle- 
tins and  letters  models  of  style  and  sublimity. 
Did  Napoleon  want  judgment  ?  Mirabeau,  who 
controlled  the  deliberations  of  the  National  Assem- 
bly of  France  in  the  stormiest  time  of  her  Revolu- 
27* 


318  THE  DEVELOPMENT 

tion,  was  as  remarkable  for  the  gorgeous  splendor 
of  his  imagination  as  he  was  for  the  far-reaching 
profundity  of  his  views. 

The  opinion  that  talents  are  like  a  piece  of 
cabinet-work,  fit  only  for  a  particular  purpose  for 
which  they  were  made,  seems  to  be  more  prevalent 
among  moderns  than  it  was  among  the  ancients. 
This  may  arise,  in  a  great  degree,  from  the  accumu- 
lation of  knowledge  and  the  necessity  there  now  is 
to  know  more,  to  be  called  eminent.  The  inven- 
tion of  letters  has  wrought  like  a  fairy  gift,  and 
spread  knowledge  abroad  to  all.  But  the  facilities 
which  this  divine  invention  gives  in  the  acquire- 
ment of  knowledge,  have,  by  the  accumulation  of 
it,  made  it  necessary  that  the  aspirant  should  de- 
vote himself  with  the  greater  closeness  to  the  par- 
ticular science  in  which  he  seeks  success,  as  the 
mistress  is  said  to  require  the  greater  devotion  from 
her  lover  in  proportion  to  the  allurements  around 
him  which  might  lead  him  astray.  Now  it  would 
take  all  the  time  of  the  closest  student  to  keep 
up  with  the  increase  of  knowledge  in  many  branches 
of  study.  This  was  not  so  among  the  ancients. 
The  philosophers,  from  their  academies,  delivered 
their  precepts  to  their  disciples,  which  passed  among 
them  as  the  undisputed  truth.  We  observe,  that 
individuals  among  the  ancients  excelled  in  many 
different  pursuits,  which,  among  the  moderns,  are 
held    to   be   incompatibilities.     Themistocles,  for 


OP  MIND  AND  CHARACTER.  319 

instance,  was  the  greatest  statesman  of  his  time, 
one  of  the  best  orators  ;  and  he  commanded  at  the 
sea-fight  of  Salamis,  which  saved  the  liberties  of 
Greece.  Cato,  the  censor,  was  at  once  a  statesman, 
a  warrior,  an  orator,  and  an  author.  "  Plutarch's 
Lives"  are  full  of  the  truth  of  this  remark.  Napo- 
leon and  Chatham  placed  this  work  under  their 
pillows  every  night,  and  read  it  in  the  morning 
previous  to  entering  on  the  duties  of  the  day,  as 
the  ancient  priest  repaired  to  the  inner  sanctuary 
that  he  might  catch  inspiration  from  the  presence 
of  the  divine  itself. 

I  can  no  more  believe  that  every  poet  placed  in 
Byron's  situation  would  have  written  as  he  did, 
than  I  can  believe  that  every  man  so  situated  would 
go  into  voluntary  exile.  I  merely  say  that  every 
man,  to  be  great,  must  have  natural  capacity,  ge- 
nius, or  whatever  metaphysicians  please  to  call  it ; 
and  there  must  be  sufficient  motive  acting  upon  his 
mind  to  awaken  its  powers ;  and*  that  the  motive 
and  circumstances  that  arouse  them  will  always 
give  them  a  peculiar  bias,  which  might  seem  to  the 
individual  himself  a  very  instinct  determining  him 
to  his  particular  pursuit. 

Some  minds  need  a  much  stronger  incitement 
than  others  to  call  forth  their  energies.  A  man 
with  Dr.  Johnson's  indolence  and  habits  of  procras- 
tination, requires  a  much  stronger  motive  to  make 
him  exert  his  talents  than  a  man  with  Newton's 


320  THE  DEVELOPMENT 

industry.  One  who,  like  Sheridan,  had  a  thousand 
temptations  to  allure  him  away  from  intellectual 
toil,  should  have  the  very  strongest  motive  to  keep 
him  to  it.  The  ball,  the  rout,  the  dinner-party, 
the  club,  in  each  of  which  he  cut  such  a  conspicuous 
figure,  all  led  him  away  from  those  studies  which 
he  should  have  pursued.  Perhaps  nothing  but 
stern  necessity  would  have  made  him  a  student. 
While  Dr.  Franklin  would  sit  up  half  the  night,  not 
by  compulsion,  but  as  a  pleasure,  when  there  was 
almost  a  necessity  that  he  should  retire  to  rest  to 
enable  him  to  undergo  the  labors  of  the  coming 
day — Dr.  Johnson,  to  use  his  own  expression, 
"  had  to  provide  for  the  day  that  was  passing  over 
him"  by  his  intellectual  toil,  and  he  shrank  from 
it  as  if  he  considered  it  all  labor. 

Then,  if  these  remarks  be  correct,  a  man  must 
not  only  have  genius,  but  he  must  be  placed  in  cir- 
cumstances favorable  to  its  development  ;  and  it 
requires  different  circumstances  to  call  forth  the 
intellect  of  different  individuals. 

The  mind,  its  purposes  and  impulses,  previous  to 
receiving  its  bias,  is  in  the  state  of  a  mass  of  water 
that  has  been  diked  in,  and  which,  when  it  forces 
its  way,  rolls  an  irresistible  flood,  bearing  on  the 
bosom  of  its  onward  wave  every  leaf  and  stem  so 
naturally,  that,  in  contemplating  it,  either  of  us 
would  say — "  Nature,  surely,  formed  that  channel. 
See  how  beautifully  the  willow  bends  over  it,  how 


OF  MIND  AND  CHARACTER.  321 

gracefully  it  winds  around  the  hill,  expanding  with 
such  ample  volume,  as  it  stretches  through  the 
plain  !  Surely,  it  must  have  rolled  there  when 
time  was  young.  No,  not  so  ;  if  it  had  found  vent 
in  another  place,  that  willow  would  not  have  grown 
there ;  there  would  have  been  no  flower  at  the  foot 
of  the  hill,  and  that  fertile  plain  would  now  be  a 
barren  waste,  herbless,  fruitless,  treeless."  Thus 
it  is  with  the  mind.  Corregio,  no  doubt,  felt  many 
stirrings  of  ambition  very  different  from  an  artist's, 
previous  to  becoming  a  painter  ;  but  when  he  saw 
the  painting  which  struck  him  more  than  anything 
he  had  ever  seen  before,  the  whole  tide  of  his  feel- 
ings burst  forth,  and,  starting  back,  he  exclaimed 
with  enthusiasm — "And  I  also  am  a  painter,"  de- 
voted himself  to  the  art,  and  became  one  of  the 
greatest  pa;nters  that  ever  lived.  When  a  man 
has  talents  and  firmly  applies  himself,  he  must  be 
great. 

Montesquieu,  the  author  of  the  "  Spirit  of  Laws," 
was  twenty  years  completing  the  celebrated  work 
which  has  given  his  name  to  immortality.  He  re- 
marked on  its  completion,  that  he  had  read  and 
re-read  the  works  of  the  great  luminaries  of  science ; 
"and,"  said  he,  quoting  Corregio,  "I  also  am  a 
painter.  "# 

Milton,  too,  said  in  his  youth,  feeling  the  flame 
from  the  divine  altar  burning  within  him,  that  he 


322  THE  DEVELOPMENT 

meant  to  write  something  which  the  world  would 
not  willingly  let  die.  And  who,  in  his  imagina- 
tion, has  not  contemplated  the  wan,  attenuated, 
blind  old  man  apostrophizing  that  celestial  light 
which  shone  but  upon  his  mind  ? 

"  Hail,  holy  light !  offspring  of  heaven,  first-born 
Of  th'  Eternal,  coeternal  beam; 
May  I  express  thee  unblamed  ?   since  God  is  light, 
And  never  but  in  unapproached  light 
Dwelt  from  eternity." 

And  Bacon,  too,  that  great  luminary  of  science, 
in  sickness,  in  poverty,  and  in  disgrace,  bequeath- 
ing his  name  to  posterity,  after  some  time  should 
have  passed  away  ! 

It  is  this  deep,  heartfelt  enthusiasm,  and  far- 
reaching  aspiration,  and  high  hope,  that  make  the 
great  man.  As  soon  as  his  mind  has  received  its 
bias,  and  he  has  determined  his  particular  pursuit, 
with  a  devotion  that  falters  not — with  a  toil  that 
never  tires — with  a  singleness  of  love  that  nothing 
woos  him  from  winning,  he  pursues  his  purposes ; 
and  is  it  to  be  wondered  that  he  gains  his  point? 

Leander  crossed  the  Hellespont,  to  meet  the 
lady  of  his  love,  though  the  billows  heaved  high, 
and  the  tempest  broke  over  him  ;  and  thus  must 
the  poet,  the  statesman,  the  orator,  and  the  philo- 
sopher, bear  on  to  his  purpose — 


OF  MIND  AND  CHARACTER.  323 

"  He  must  keep  one  constant  flame 
Through  life  unchilled,  unmoved, 
And  love  in  wintry  age  the  same 
As  first  in  youth  he  loved." 

What,  then,  do  these  facts  impress  upon  one? 
Why,  that  no  matter  what  others  may  think  of 
your  intellectual  powers,  press  on,  and  you  may 
strike  the  mine  ;  for  who  knows  but  what  you  pos- 
sess it.  Feel  as  Sheridan  felt  when  Woodfall  told 
him,  after  hearing  his  first  speech  in  Parliament, 
that  he  would  never  make  an  orator.  "  It  is  in 
me,  however,"  said  Sheridan,  "  and  it  shall  come 
out."  It  was  in  him,  and  it  did  come  out.  He 
lived  to  make,  on  the  impeachment  of  Warren 
Hastings,  for  effect,  the  greatest  effort  that  was 
ever  heard  in  the  British  Parliament,  and  which 
has  only  been  equalled  by  Burke's  eulogy  upon  it ; 
an  effort  of  which  Burke,  Fox,  and  Pitt,  became 
rivals  in  eulogy;  which  caused  Pitt  to  move  an  ad- 
journment of  the  House,  declaring  that  he  himself 
"  was  under  the  enchanter's  wand  ;"  an  effort  which 
made  the  culprit  Hastings  confess  that,  for  awhile, 
he  believed  himself  guilty ;  which  brought  from 
brothers  and  sisters,  and  the  remotest  connection 
letters  that  boasted  of  their  relationship  to  him ; 
an  effort  which  drew  from  his  lovely  and  devoted 
wife  tears  and  words  of  heartfelt,  womanly, 
and  holy  pride,  in  which  his  very  servant  partici- 
pated ;  for  we  learn  that  he  was  "  long  celebrated" 


324  THE  DEVELOPMENT 

for  the  manner  in  which  he  imitated  his  master's 
closing  words.  It  was  an  effort  that  made  every 
Irishman  proud  of  his  country,  and  every  English- 
man prouder  of  his  language.  A  man  of  genius 
should  feel  as  did  Burns,  who  concluded,  that  be- 
cause he  could  plough  as  well  as  another  youth  who 
wrote  verses,  that  he  could  write  verses  as  well.  If 
you  fail  once,  do  as  Jacob  Faithful  advises :  "  Try 
it  again,  and  you  may  have  better  luck  next  time.'' 
But  remember  that  these  trials  be  in  the  cause 
of  virtue,  and  that  your  talents  be  devoted  not  only 
to  your  own  advancement  but  to  the  public  good. 
One  of  the  most  touching  productions  of  the  modern 
muse,  is  the  lines  entitled  "My  Birthday,"  from 
the  pen  of  Ireland's  favorite  bard,  in  which  he 
laments  the  birthdays  that  will  not  return  and  give 
the  power  of  amendment ;  and  speaks — 

" of  talents  made, 

Hap'ly  for  high  and  pure  designs, 
But  oft,  like  Israel's  incense,  laid 
Upon  unholy  earthly  shrines." 

A  still  more  memorable  lamentation  over  errors 
that  could  not  be  corrected,  is  narrated  by  Dumont 
in  his  "  Recollections  of  Mirabeau."  At  the  com- 
mencement of  the  French  Revolution,  Mirabeau 
went  to  Paris,  ruined  in  fortune  and  reputation. 
His  wild  passions  were  as  reckless  as  the  swollen 
mountain  stream,  the  proclivity  of  which  to  the 
valley  is  not  more  certain  than  were  his  impulses 


OF  MIND  AND  CHARACTER.  325 

towards  excess.  He  set  up  the  sign  of  "Mirabeau, 
tailor,"  and  was  elected  to  the  States  General. 
Such  wTas  the  low  ebb  of  his  moral  character  that 
hisses,  curses,  and  execrations  followed  hirn  as  he 
entered  the  National  Convention.  By  the  power 
of  his  talents  he  forced  his  way  ;  and  when  the 
Jacobins  rose  up  against  him,  he  exclaimed  in  his 
loudest  voice,  shaking  his  "boar's  head"  at  them, 
"Silence,  those  thirty  voices!"  and  they  were 
silent  at  his  bidding.  But,  alas,  in  the  midst  of 
his  power,  he  felt  how  much  greater  it  would  have 
been  had  his  moral  character  stood  as  high  as  his 
talents.  Dumont  states  his  belief  that  Mirabeau 
would  have  gone  "seven  times  through  the  heated 
furnace"  to  have  purified  his  name,  for  he  was  con- 
scious that  if  his  personal  reputation  had  been  good 
he  would  have  had  the  control  of  all  France.  Mira- 
beau's  friend  has  seen  him  burst  into  a  passion  of 
tears  when  reflecting  upon  this  subject,  and  heard 
him,  in  a  voice  almost  inarticulate  with  grief,  ex- 
claim :  "  I  am  cruelly  expiating  the  errors  of  my 
youth."  At  the  age  of  forty-two  he  died  of  his 
excesses  ;  and  all  Paris,  forgetting  his  errors  in 
the  splendor  of  his  talents  and  services,  went  weep- 
ing to  his  funeral.  But  for  these  excesses,  he  might 
have  lived  with  a  virtuous  as  well  as  a  brilliant 
renown,  and  have  saved  France  from  the  horrors 
of  her  fearful  revolution.  What  a  lesson  !  What 
a  moral ! 
28 


32G    DEVELOPMENT  OF  MIND  AND  CHARACTER. 

Alas  !  we  have  too  many  instances  to  prove  that 
talents,  though  they  may  win  for  their  possessor 
public  admiration,  fail  to  secure  him  public  confi- 
dence if  he  wander  from  the  paths  of  rectitude. 
On  the  other  hand,  behold  the  respect  and  rever- 
ence which  gathered  in  blessings  around  the  brows 
of  Chatham,  Henry,  Marshall,  and  Washington. 
Emulate  their  example ;  and,  though  you  may  not 
all  be  great,  the  saying  is  as  trite  as  it  is  true,  that 
you  can  all  be  good. 


A  CHAPTEK  OF  ACCIDENTS: 

THE  AUTHORESS  OF  "CONSTANCY." 


After  spending  three  or  four  days  in  that  hos- 
pitable city,  Louisville,  most  delightfully,  I  em- 
barked on  board  the  steamboat  Mary — I  use  a 
fictitious  name,  and,  like  the  lord  of  poets,  "  I 
have  a  passion  for  the  name  of  Mary" — to  return 
to  Cincinnati.  All  was  bustle  on  board ;  the  cap- 
tain was  hurrying  to  and  fro  among  the  hands, 
uttering  strange  oaths,  and  vowing  that  he  must 
be  off  before  the  other  boats. 

Ah  !  a  race  on  the  carpet — or,  to  speak  without 
metaphor,  on  the  river — thought  I ;  and  as  one  on 
crutches,  unless  he  has  certain  powers  possessed 
by  the  devil  on  two  sticks,  which,  for  his  soul's 
sake,  he  had  better  not  have,  unless  he  has  the  gift 
of  Asmodeus,  if  any  accident  happens,  is  just  in 
as  bad  a  predicament  as  the  liveliest  imagination, 


328  A  CHAPTER  OF  ACCIDENTS. 

expatiating  on  our  western  waters,  could  possibly 
fancy.  "I  cannot  swim,"  thought  I;  "it  will  be  a 
tempting  of  misfortune;  I'll  quit  the  boat."  I 
passed  out  of  the  cabin  to  carry  this  resolution 
into  effect,  and  beheld  the  firemen  pitching  the 
huge  logs  into  the  furnace,  as  though  they  were  so 
many  Lilliputian  splinters.  The  heat  from  the 
apparatus  passed  over  my  face  like  the  breath  of 
the  sirocco.  At  this  instant,  the  steam  gave  a  hiss 
full  of  fumy  fury  ;  it  seemed  to  me  the  premonitory 
symptom  of  a  bursted  boiler,  just  as  the  hiss  of  a 
snake  is  the  avant-courier  of  a  bite.  I  could  not 
pass  that  boiler ;  it  was  impossible.  "While  I  stood 
eying  it,  irresolute,  I  heard  the  paddles  splash  in 
the  water,  and  the  boat  moved  under  me  ;  we  were 
on  our  way.  I  now  hurried  into  the  cabin,  de- 
termined to  get  the  sternmost  berth,  Number  one, 
the  farthest  off  from  the  boiler,  and  ensconce  myself 
in  it  until  supper,  and  then  I  could  just  pop  out 
and  take  the  nearest  seat  at  the  table. 

When  I  opened  the  book  to  set  my  name  down 
to  Number  one,  lo !  every  berth  was  taken  but  Num- 
ber ten,  the  nearest  of  all  to  the  boiler. 

"  There  must  be  some  mistake  about  this,"  said 
I,  aloud  ;  "  I  believe  I  took  Number  one." 

"No  mistake  at  all,  sir,"  exclaimed  a  thin,  dys- 
peptic old  man,  starting  up  from  a  chair  which 
stood  jam  against  the  door  that  led  to  the  stern 


A  CHAPTER  OF  ACCIDENTS.  329 

of  the  boat;  "  no  mistake  at  all,  sir  ;  I  came  three 
hours  ago  and  took  that  berth.  I  have  no  idea  of 
being  near  that  boiler.  Did  you  see  that  account 
in  the  paper  this  morning  of  the  bursting  of  the 
boiler  of  the  Return?     Horrible!  horrible!  !" 

Here  the  conversation  among  the  passengers 
turned  upon  such  accidents,  and  we  talked  our- 
selves into  a  perfect  fever.  Every  jar  of  the  boat 
— and  somehow  the  boats  on  the  western  waters 
have  a  knack  at  jarring — seemed  to  be  the  last 
effort  of  the  boiler  to  contain  the  boiling  waters 
within.  I  tried  to  philosophize.  I  began  to  think 
about  Napoleon,  and  to  reason  myself  into  a  belief 
in  destiny.  I  always  was  something  of  a  predesti- 
narian.  "  But  confound  it !"  thought  I,  just  as  I 
was  settling  down  into  a  fatalism  as  doubtless  as  a 
Mussulman's,  "  if  I  had  quitted  this  boat,  or  even 
got  berth  Number  one,  it  would  certainly  influence 
my  destiny  should  that  boiler  burst." 

I  determined  to  try  once  more  to  get  the  berth, 
and  I  addressed  the  old  codger  again ;  but  in  vain. 
He  vowed  he  would  leave  the  boat,  be  put  ashore, 
before  he  would  give  up  Number  one.  He,  I  dis- 
covered, had  never  been  out  of  sight  of  his  own  chim- 
ney before,  and  had  often  sat  in  its  snug  corner,  and 
read  of  steamboat  accidents.  He  had  a  decided 
taste  for  such  things.  A  connection  near  Wheel- 
ing had  left  him  a  piece  of  property,  of  which  he 
was  going  to  take  possession,  and  I  verily  believe 


880  A  CHAPTER  OF  ACCIDENTS, 

the  price  of  it  could  not  have  induced  him  to 
change  berths  with  me. 

Habit  is  everything.  By  the  time  I  had  dis- 
patched more  cups  of  coffee  than  I  choose  to  tell 
of,  and  more  eggs  and  bacon  than  might,  under 
other  circumstances,  have  been  compatible  with  the 
health  of  a  dyspeptic,  for  such  I  was,  and  seated 
myself  on  the  stern  of  the  vessel,  with  a  fragrant 
cigar,  watching  the  setting  sun  as  it  threw  a  gor- 
geous hue  on  the  glittering  waters — by  this  time, 
by  a  process  of  ratiocination  with  which,  I  fear,  the 
sensual  had  more  to  do  than  the  intellectual  man, 
I  had  partly  reconciled  myself  to  the  dangers  that 
encompassed  me. 

I  discovered  that  the  other  boats  were  out  of 
sight,  and  I  began  to  reflect  that  every  situation 
has  its  pleasures  as  well  as  perils.  And  then 
arose,  vividly  to  my  mind,  the  fact  that  when,  not 
a  very  long  time  previous,  I  was  approaching  Day- 
ton, through  the  woods,  in  a  carryall,  all  alone  by 
myself,  as  an  Irishman  would  say,  with  a  greater 
desire  for  a  straight  course  than  the  trees  would 
allow  me  to  practise — I  like  a  straight-forward 
course,  and  if  there  has  been  an  obliquity  since  in 
my  scribbling  or  conduct,  it  is  attributable  to  this 
circumstance — the  fore-wheel  of  my  vehicle — I 
was  in  a  full  trot — quarrelled  with  a  tree  that  stood 
in  its  way,  got  the  worst  of  it,  and  broke  short 
off.     The  consequence  was,  I  was  pitched  out  into 


A  CHAPTER  OF  ACCIDENTS,  331 

the  road  with  much  less  ceremony  than  a  carter 
unloads  his  cart.  My  better  half,  my  crutch,  kept 
its  seat,  and  bounced  up,  I  thought,  with  a  spirit  of 
rejoicing  and  deviltry,  delighted,  no  doubt,  to  get 
rid  of  a  burden  that  I  had  compelled  it  to  carry 
for  years — a  burden  which,  unlike  iEsop's,  grew 
heavier  on  the  journey.  Crutch  and  I  have  never 
been  friends  since.  In  taking  a  long  walk,  after 
this  event,  it  bruised  my  arm  so  terribly,  that  I 
have  been  an  invalid  for  five  months.  This  in- 
fused into  my  arm  a  spirit  of  nullification.  It  ran 
up  the  single  star  at  once,  and  vowed  it  would  not 
bear  the  weight  of  the  whole  body — that  it  was  not 
made  for  that  purpose,  and  wouldn't  and  couldn't. 
I  have  several  times  threatened  this  unruly  mem- 
ber with  dismemberment,  but  it  knows  very  well  it 
is  bruised  too  near  the  shoulder  for  that,  and  is, 
like  South  Carolina,  too  close  a  part  and  parcel  of 
my  body  to  entertain  many  fears  on  that  score. 
In  fact,  I  played  politician  with  it,  and  brought  in 
a  compromise  bill.  I  have  agreed  not  to  use  the 
crutch  until  my  arm  gets  well,  and  to  endeavor  to 
contrive  some  other  means  of  walking.  For  amuse- 
ment, and  to  get  rid  of  ennui,  in  the  meantime,  I 
scribble. 

But  where  was  I  in  ray  story  ?  Ah  !  away  went 
the  horse  with  the  broken  carryall,  my  crutch 
driving,  while  I  lay  in  the  road,  happily  unhurt; 
but,  like  King  Darius,   "  deserted  in   my  utmost 


66Z  A  CHAPTER  OF  ACCIDENTS. 

need."  In  an  instant  I  recovered  myself,  and 
cried  out  "  Wo  !  wo  !"  in  the  most  commanding 
tone  I  could  assume.  The  horse  stopped,  but  you 
may  depend  I  had  a  hop  of  it  to  reach  him. 

Some  one  of  old  boasted  to  one  of  the  philoso- 
phers— which  one  was  it?  I  forget — that  he  could 
stand  longer  on  one  leg  than  any  man  in  the 
country.  u  That  you  may,"  replied  the  philoso- 
pher, "  but  a  goose  can  beat  you."  Now,  the  fact 
is,  I  can  beat  the  best  goose  of  the  whole  of  them ; 
and  this  is  something  to  brag  of,  when  we  remem- 
ber that  these  sublime  birds  saved  the  now  "  lone 
mother  of  dead  empires,"  then  in  her  high  and 
palmy  state,  by  cackling.  A  good  many  cackle 
nowadays  in  vain,  to  save  our  State;  but,  gentle 
reader,  they  are  not  geese.  And,  my  fellow-citi- 
zens, if  you  think  I  have  any  qualities  for  saving 
the  State — which  our  statesmen  want,  though  even 
geese  had  them  of  old,  but  they  were  Roman  geese, 
and  the  last  of  the  Romans,  both  of  geese  and  men, 
rests  in  peace — if  you  think  I  have  any  qualities 
for  saving  the  State,  be  it  known  to  you  that  I  have 
adopted  the  motto  of  various  elevated,  disinterested 
patriots  of  our  country,  viz. :  "Neither  to  seek  nor 
to  decline  office."  I  have  a  right  to  jest  with  my 
misfortunes  :  it  is  the  best  way  to  bear  them. 

I  had  to  lead  my  old  horse  up  to  the  broken 
carryall  to  mount  him.  He  feared  to  look  on 
what  he  had  done,  like  Macbeth ;  and  the  ghost  of 


A  CHAPTER  OF  ACCIDENTS.  333 

Banquo  never  startled  the  thane  more  than  did 
that  ghost  of  a  vehicle  my  steed.  How  he  cur- 
vetted, twisted,  turned,  kicked  up !  At  last  I 
mounted  him,  and  shared,  with  my  crutch  and  the 
harness,  the  honor  of  a  ride  into  Dayton. 

In  this  way  I  entered  that  town  for  the  first  time, 
and  drew  up  at  Browning's  in  a  style  of  grotesque 
dignity,  I  ween,  that  has  seldom  been  surpassed. 

I  chewed  the  cud  of  this  incident  for  some  time, 
and  then  thought  of  another.  The  winter  before 
last  I  was  returning  from  Columbus,  in  the  mail- 
stage.  We  had  passengers,  a  reverend  gentleman, 
who,  with  myself,  occupied  the  front  seat.  He  was 
one  of  the  biggest  parsons  you  ever  saw.  Oppo- 
site to  the  reverend  gentleman  sat  a  Daniel  Lam- 
bert of  a  Pennsylvanian — one  of  your  corn-fed 
fellows.  He  believed  emphatically  that  Major  Jack 
Downing  was  as  true-and-true  a  man  as  ever  wrote 
a  letter,  and  his  political  bias  led  him  to  remark 
that  he  "  didn't  think  the  major  any  great  shakes, 
after  all."  Alongside  of  the  Pennsylvanian,  face 
to  face  with  your  humble  servant,  was  a  young 
man  with  demure  features,  saving  and  excepting  a 
twinkling  eye.  He  was  a  Southerner,  he  said,  tra- 
velling for  his  health.  On  the  back  seat  sat  an  old 
and  a  young  lady,  with  an  elderly  respectable 
looking  man  between  them.  The  young  lady  was 
like  a  dream  of  poetry  ;  her  features  were  finely 
formed,  and  her  eyes  were  the  most  expressive  and 


334  A  CHAPTER  OF  ACCIDENTS. 

intelligent  I  ever  beheld.  She  was  not  only  "beau- 
tiful exceedingly,"  but  she  had  exceedingly  culti- 
vated and  graceful  manners — that  chief  charm  in 
woman,  after  all.  She  mechanically — from  the  im- 
pulse of  good  feeling — stretched  out  her  hand  to 
take  my  crutch,  as  I  ascended  the  stage  ;  and,  re- 
membering Dr.  Franklin's  tale  of  the  deformed  and 
handsome  leg — I  often  have  cause  to  remember  it, 
and  I  pronounce  it  a  test — I  felt  an  instinctive 
admiration  for  the  fair  lady. 

We  were  soon  dashing  along,  not  on  the  best 
roads  in  the  world.  I  like  to  observe  character ; 
I'd  shut  Shakspeare  any  day,  and  turn  a  deaf  ear 
to  Booth  any  night,  though  representing  his  best 
character,  to  hold  converse  with  an  original  in  the 
lobby.  I  sat  in  silence,  and  listened  to  the  talk 
of  my  travelling  companions  for  a  mile  or  two, 
when  I  made  up  my  mind  as  to  their  dispositions. 
My  mind  was  made  up  from  the  first,  as  to  the  fair 
lady.  In  coming  to  a  fine  prospect,  I  caught  her 
eye  glancing  over  it,  and  I  commenced,  gently,  to 
expatiate  upon  it.  I  made  a  hit ;  I  thought  I 
would.  We  broke  out  at  once  into  a  chattering 
conversation,  in  which  our  imaginations  sported 
and  played  on  the  beauties  of  the  poets  and  of 
Dame  Nature.  I  tried  to  find  out  who  she  was, 
but  you  must  remember  I  had  to  deport  myself 
with  great  delicacy  and  tact — she  was  an  accom- 
plished, young,  and  most  beautiful  woman,  and  I 


A  CHAPTER  OF  ACCIDENTS.  335 

was  merely  a  stage-coach  acquaintance,  without 
not  only  the  pleasure  of  an  introduction,  but  ig- 
norant of  her  name.  These  parsons  beat  us  young 
men  out-and-out,  for  when  we  stopped  to  dine,  the 
reverend  gentleman  took  a  seat  by  the  fair  lady,  in 
the  corner,  on  the  left  hand  side  of  the  fireplace  ; 
and  they  carried  on  a  conversation  in  a  low  voice 
for  some  time.  I  began  to  form  a  bad  opinion  of 
the  whole  tribe  of  black  coats,  and  to  think  them 
no  better  than  the  "gentleman  in  black,  with  the 
black  waistcoat,  inexpressibles,  and  silk  stockings, 
black  coat,  black  bag,  black-edged  papers  tied  with 
tape,  black  smelling-bottle,  and  snuffbox,  and  black 
guard,"  whose  adventures  have  lately  been  pub- 
lished. "  Well,"  thought  I,  "  if  I  were  an  old  limb 
of  the  law  instead  of  a  young  one,  I  might  play  old 
Bagsby  with  him;  but  I  am  not,  and" — I  was  inter- 
rupted agreeably  in  these  reflections  by  the  reve- 
rend gentleman,  or  the  "gentleman  in  black," 
leaving  the  fair  lady,  and  walking  to  the  other 
side  of  the  room  to  the  fireplace,  for  there  was  a 
fireplace  in  both  ends  of  the  room,  and  commenc- 
ing a  conversation  with  the  elderly  gentleman  and 
and  lady  seated  there.  I  was  left  tete-a-tete  with 
the  fair  lady,  and  divers  and  sundry  things  were 
said  by  both  of  us  not  necessary  to  record.  How 
fast  the  time  flew !  I  felt  a  cold  chill  as  the 
driver  entered  the  room.  We  arose  ;  he  said  he 
was  sorry  to  have  kept  us  waiting  so  long,  but  he 


336  A  CHAPTER  OF  ACCIDENTS. 

was  having  the  wheels  of  the  stage  greased  ;  the 
former  driver  had  neglected  it,  and  his  horses 
couldn't  stand  it.  "So  long!"  I  sat  down — you 
know  my  feelings — and  I  hoped  and  hope  my  fair 
companion  did  not  regret  a  great  deal  this  delay. 

Long  ere  this,  of  course,  I  had  discovered  the 
lady  was  as  intelligent  as  she  was  beautiful;  and  I 
offered  her  a  newspaper  I  had  put  in  my  pocket  at 
Columbus,  that  I  might  read  for  the  third  time  a 
beautiful  tale  which  it  contained.  The  editor  of 
the  paper  praised  the  story  very  highly,  and  I 
commended  his  taste  and  the  public's. 

"  What  is  the  name  of  the  tale  ?"  asked  the  lady. 

"  '  Constancy,"  said  I;  "I  fear  it  is  but  a  day- 
dream— but  the  story  is  beautifully  told — and  I 
hope  the  author,  if  ever  he  has  a  love  affair,  may 
realize  it." 

She  blushed,  and  asked  me  to  read  it.  I  pride 
myself  somewhat  upon  my  reading — I  had  a  motive, 
you  see,  for  offering  the  newspaper — and,  in  a  voice 
just  loud  enough  for  her  to  hear,  I  complied. 

We  were  soon  seated  in  the  stage,  again,  rattling 
away.  The  Pennsylvanian  had  eaten  to  sleepi- 
ness ;  he  nodded  and  nodded  fore  and  aft.  The 
young  man  beside  him,  with  a  face  as  grave  as 
the  parson's,  would  every  now  and  then  slyly  tip 
up  his  hat,  so  as  sometimes  to  cant  it  nearly  off; 
at  which  the  unsuspecting  sleeper  would  rouse  up, 
replace  his  beaver,  cast  his  eyes  to  the  top  of  the 


A  CHAPTER  OF  ACCIDENTS.  337 

stage,  as  if  lie  wondered  if  a  bounce  of  the  vehicle 
could  have  pitched  him  so  high,  and  then  nod 
again. 

We  changed  horses  at  the  Yellow  Springs.  I 
did  my  best  to  beat  the  preacher,  but  these 
preachers  are  hard  men  to  deal  with  ;  they  stand  on 
a  place  Archimedes  wanted,  for  while  I  was  musing 
upon  some  fairy  thought  the  fair  lady  had  uttered, 
the  reverend  gentleman,  or  the  "  gentleman  in 
black,"  took  advantage  of  the  pause,  and  proposed 
that  we  should  sing  a  hymn  !  I  have  no  voice  in 
the  world — I  mean  for  singing — and,  with  a  jaun- 
diced mind,  I  thought  at  once  the  reverend  gentle- 
man wished  to  show  off.  I  asked  him  rather 
abruptly  if  he  was  married.  He  smiled  peculiarly 
—  I  didn't  like  his  smile  —  moved  his  head  —  I 
couldn't  tell  whether  it  was  a  shake  or  a  nod — and 
gave  out  the  hymn. 

Just  as  you  pass  the  Yellow  Springs,  on  your 
wTay  to  Cincinnati,  is  a  branch,  which,  at  this  par- 
ticular time  to  which  I  allude,  was  very  muddy. 
We  descended  into  it  in  full  drive — the  ladies  and 
the  parson  in  full  voice — and  sweetly  sounded  the 
fair  lady's.  I  was  just  watching  her  upturned  eye, 
that  had  the  soul  of  the  hymn  in  it,  when  the  fore- 
wheel  on  my  side  entered  a  mud-hole  up  to  the 
hub,  and  over  went  the  stage  !  Were  there  bones 
broken  ?  you  ask.  Bones  broken  !  I  would  have 
compromised  the  case  and  used  a  dozen  crutches. 
29 


338  A  CHAPTER  OF  ACCIDENTS. 

We  had  a  verification  of  Dean  Swift's  proverb — 
it  gave  consolation  to  him  to  whom  the  dean  ad- 
dressed it,  but  none  to  me — 

"  The  more  dirt, 
The  less  hurt/7 

The  big  parson  fell  right  on  me  !  Do  you  wonder 
that  I  felt  myself  sinking  into  the  mud  ?  I  seized 
time  as  I  wTas  rapidly  disappearing,  as  I  thought, 
altogether,  to  ask  the  fair  lady  if  she  was  hurt. 
She  was  not,  she  assured  me,  and,  in  a  plaintive 
voice,  inquired  if  I  was.  There  is  consolation, 
thought  I,  in  that  tone,  if  I  should  sink  to  the 
centre  of  the  earth  ;  and  when  I  reflected  how 
muddy  I  was,  I  contracted  myself  into  as  small  a 
compass  as  possible,  determined  to  disappear. 
Here  the  Virginian  called  out  in  a  long  angry  voice, 
which  satisfied  us  that  he  was  not  killed,  though 
he  felt  himself  in  danger — 

"  Halloo,  Pennsylvany,  are  you  never  going  to 
get  off  of  me  ?" 

The  sleeper  was  not  yet  fairly  awake. 

"  Don't  swear,  don't  swear,"  said  the  preacher 
persuasively,  and,  making  a  stepping-stone  of  my 
frail  body,  he  got  through  the  window.  The  Penn- 
sylvanian  used  the  body  of  his  neighbor  for  the 
same  purpose — engulfed  him — and  followed  after 
the  parson.     The  fair  lady  was  unhurt,  and,  not  to 


A  CHAPTER  OF  ACCIDENTS.  339 

be  too  particular,  we  all  got  safely  out.  And — 
and,  no  matter — it's  no  use  for  a  man  to  make 
himself  too  ridiculous — I  shall  not  commit  a  suicide 
on  my  own  dignity — I  forgot  my  situation  but  for 
a  moment,  and  that  was  in  observing  the  parson 
by  the  roadside  on  his  knees,  with  his  clasped 
hands  uplifted,  and  his  hat  reverently  cast  aside. 
I  forgot  my  situation  but  for  a  moment,  and  in 
that  one  moment  my  opinion  of  the  parson  was 
entirely  changed. 

The  stage  was  uninjured  ;  in  ten  minutes  we 
were  on  our  way.  I — I — I  can  jest  with  some  of 
my  misfortunes — with  my  crutch — but  there  are 
some  misfortunes  a  man  can't  jest  with. 

In  about  half  an  hour  the  stage  stopped  at  a  neat 
farmhouse,  and  the  fair  lady  with  her  companions 
left  us,  but  not  before  I  seized  an  opportunity  of 
uttering  —  notwithstanding  my  discomfiture  —  in 
my  very  best  manner,  one  or  two  compliments  that 
had  more  heart  in  them  than  many  I  have  uttered 
to  many  a  fair  acquaintance  of  many  years' 
standing. 

When  we  were  on  our  way,  again,  I  learned  from 
the  parson — he  had  caught  it  all  between  the  two 
fireplaces  where  we  stopped  to  dine ;  it  gave  me  se- 
rious notions  of  reading  divinity — that  the  fair  lady 
was  travelling  under  the  protection  of  the  old  lady 
and  gentleman,  who  were  distantly  connected  with 


840  A  CHAPTER  OF  ACCIDENTS. 

her.  She  was  on  her  way  home  from  Mr.  Archer's 
Seminary,*  in  Baltimore;  she  had  stopped  at  a  re- 
lative's. Her  parents  lived  at (a  great  dis- 
tance, thought  I).  She  was  the  authoress,  he  told 
me,  of  "  Constancy." 

Not  long  after  this  event,  I  received  a  news- 
paper, the  direction — my  address  in  full — written 
in  a  fair  delicate  hand — a  hand  meant  for  a  "crow- 
quill  and  gilt-edged  paper,"  containing  a  beautiful 
story  by  the  authoress  of  "  Constancy."  I  didn't 
think  it  possible  for  my  name  to  look  so  well  as  it 
did  in  that  direction. 

Whenever  I  travel,  and  often  when  I  don't 
travel,  and  am  an  invalid  as  now,  that  fair  lady  is 
the  queen  of  my  imagination  ;  but,  a  cloud  always 
passes  over  my  face  (I've  looked  into  the  glass  and 
seen  it),  and  another  over  my  heart  (I  feel  it  now), 
whenever  I  think  of  the   branch    of  the   Yellow 

*  Mr.  Archer's  Seminary,  in  Baltimore,  is  deserving  of 
especial  notice.  It  has  been  ten  years  in  successful  opera- 
tion. Mr.  Archer  is  of  one  of  the  old  families  of  Maryland ; 
is  a  graduate  of  West  Point,  and  is  in  every  way  qualified 
to  be  at  the  head  of  such  an  institution — a  refined  and  in- 
tellectual gentleman.  His  pupils  are  most  of  them  from  the 
South,  of  the  wealthiest  and  most  respectable  families  ;  and 
there  is  not  only  the  greatest  attention  paid  to  mental  and 
moral  cultivation  in  this  thriving  institution,  but  there  is 
also  a  degree  of  refinement  and  womanly  dignity  in  the 
deportment  of  its  inmates,  which  is  a  subject  of  general 
remark. 


A  CHAPTER  OF  ACCIDENTS.  341 

Springs.  Yet,  in  spite  of  the  upturning,  even  on 
board  of  the  boat,  in  the  fear  of  a  boiler's  bursting, 
when  her  image  crossed  my  mind,  gone  were  the 
dangers  around  me.  The  smoke  ascended  from 
my  cigar,  not  in  a  puff  like  the  steam  from  the 
boiler,  but  soothingly,  lingeringly,  placidly ;  it 
curled  above  my  head  like  a  dream  of  love.  I  fixed 
my  eye  on  the  rapidly  varying  landscape,  and  re- 
newed a  vow — that  if — bah  !  your  "if"  is  a  com- 
plete weathercock  of  a  word,  a  perfect  parasite  to 
your  hopes  and  to  your  fears;  used  by  all,  faithful 
to  none,  a  sycophant,  but  I  must  use  it — if  I  ever 
— no  matter — if  it  turns  up  as  I  hope — I'll  make  a 
pilgrimage  to  the  shrine  of  that  fair  lady,  though 
I  go  to  the  uttermost  parts  of  the  earth. 


29: 


THE  LATE  CHARLES  HAMMOND, 

OF  CINCINNATI. 


The  death  of  Mr.  Hammond  has  smitten  a  large 
circle  of  personal  and  political  friends  throughout 
the  Union  with  grief;  though  it  was  an  event 
which  we  have  been  daily  expecting  for  months — 
for  occasionally  we  would  hear  that  there  was 
hope,  which  made  us  forget  that  Death  sometimes 
delays  the  blow,  to  make  his  aim  the  surer.  When 
the  news  reached  us  that  he  was  better,  we  would 
flatter  ourselves  that  it  was  a  prognostic  of  re- 
covery, when  we  should  have  reflected  that  it  was 
but  a  gleam  of  sunshine  through  the  closing  clouds 
— but  the  quietude  of  increasing  debility,  which 
had  not  energy  to  be  restless. 

For  many  months  he  was  confined  entirely  to 
his  room,  and  for  many  weeks  past  entirely  to  his 
bed,  in  which  he  could  not  change  his  position 
without  assistance.      With  heroic  fortitude  he  bore 


LATE  CHARLES  HAMMOND,  OF  CINCINNATI.    343 

his  sufferings,  with  resignation  he  bowed  to  the 
high  behest,  and  breathed  his  last  as  quietly  as  an 
infant  sinks  to  rest. 

Truly,  we  may  say  in  the  oft  quoted  language 
of  Scripture,  not  often  more  justly  applied  :  "  A 
great  man  has  fallen  this  day  in  Israel."  Mr. 
Hammond's  talents  were  of  the  highest  order.  As 
a  lawyer,  he  was  sagacious  and  profound  ;  he  not 
only  applied  to  the  case  before  him  the  energies  of 
a  great  mind,  but  he  traced  it  up  to  the  first  prin- 
ciples, and  illustrated  it  by  the  light  of  various 
knowledge.  While  the  subtlety  of  his  discrimina- 
tion partook  somewhat  of  scholastic  refinement,  he 
was  remarkable  for  generalizing  his  subject,  and 
viewing  it  philosophically.  Though  he  never 
figured  in  the  cabinet  or  on  the  bench,  and  held, 
but  for  a  short  time,  many  years  ago,  a  seat  in  the 
Ohio  State  Legislature,  yet  his  editorial  disquisi- 
tions prove  him  to  have  been  a  statesman  who  took 
his  views  from  the  fathers  of  the  constitution,  and 
who  could  expound  it  as  though  he  sat  at  its  adop- 
tion. As  a  constitutional  lawver,  he  was  thorough 
and  practical.  He  handled  the  great  questions,  as 
they  arose,  with  the  ease  of  a  county  court  lawyer 
filing  a  declaration  on  a  promissory  note.  In  such 
questions  he  delighted.  His  celebrated  argument, 
many  years  ago,  on  the  constitutionality  of  the 
Bank  of  the  United  States,  was  pronounced  by 
Judge  Marshall  the  ablest  effort  on  the  subject  he 


344   LATE  CHAKLES  HAMMOND,  OF  CINCINNATI. 

had  ever  heard.  The  graces  of  the  orator  were 
denied  to  Mr.  Hammond,  but  "  he  spoke  right 
on,"  and  with  a  force,  directness,  and  mental 
power,  which  commanded  the  closest  attention. 
He  was  very  fond  of  the  study  of  theology;  and 
when  he  first  went  to  Cincinnati,  he  held  an 
anonymous  controversy  with  a  certain  clergyman, 
in  which  he  gained  so  decided  an  advantage,  that 
the  clerical  gentleman  was  at  some  pains  to  learn 
who  his  antagonist  was ;  and  when  he  did  so,  he 
called  on  Mr.  Hammond  and  begged  him  to  drop 
the  controversy,  and  spare  him.  When  the  con- 
troversy occurred  in  Cincinnati  between  Bishop 
Purcell  and  Mr.  Campbell,  Mr.  Hammond  was  a 
constant  attendant ;  and  all  who  heard  him  con- 
verse on  the  subject,  who  did  not  know  how  various 
was  his  information,  were  astonished  at  his  display 
of  Biblical  learning.  He  kept  himself  acquainted 
with  the  current  literature  of  the  day.  Such 
authors  as  he  held  vicious  he  would  not  read, 
farther  than  to  catch  their  opinions  ;  and  if  he 
spoke  of  them  in  his  paper,  it  was  with  stern  de- 
nunciation. Of  the  imaginative  writers  of  the  day, 
Walter  Scott  was  his  favorite;  and  he  was  very 
fond  of  James's  works.  In  almost  the  last  con- 
versation the  writer  of  this  held  with  him,  he  spoke 
of  the  latter's  "  Gentleman  of  the  Old  School"  in 
terms  of  praise.  Bulwer  and  Byron  he  would  not 
read.     In  the  authors  of  Queen  Ann's  time,  he 


LATE  CHARLES  HAMMOND,  OF  CINCINNATI.    345 

was  deeply  versed;  Dryden,  Pope,  Swift,  and  Ad- 
dison were  as  familiar  to  him  as  his  law  books.  He 
was,  too,  a  general  reader  of  history,  and  no  par- 
tial garbling  of  the  historian  could  bias  his  accu- 
rate judgment  of  the  actor  and  the  event.  In  our 
own  history,  next  to  Washington,  the  man  whose 
memory  he  loved  the  most  was  Chief-Justice  Mar- 
shall. He  used  to  say  that  the  argument  of  the 
Chief-Justice,  in  the  case  of  Jonathan  Robbins,  on 
the  floor  of  Congress,  was,  take  it  all  in  all,  the 
most  argumentative  and  conclusive  speech  on  re- 
cord. Philip  Doddridge,  who  died  some  years 
since,  in  Congress,  was  the  friend  whose  memory 
he  cherished  the  warmest.  He  thought  him  one 
of  the  finest  minds  the  country  has  produced;  and 
it  was  a  mental  luxury  to  hear  him  repeat  pas- 
sages from  his  deceased  friend's  speeches,  and 
narrate  anecdotes  of  his  intellectual  triumphs. 

But  Mr.  Hammond  was  not  more  distinguished 
for  the  qualities  of  his  head  than  for  those  of  his 
heart.  While  he  was  inflexibly  upright  in  his  judg- 
ment of  men,  he  had  an  apologizing  indulgence  for 
the  frailties  of  humanity,  which  yielded  assistance 
even  where  he  condemned ;  and  which  loved  to  re- 
count the  traits  of  better  deeds,  even  in  the  con- 
demnation. His  charity  was  not  confined  to  words  ; 
it  was,  in  fact,  practised  more  than  preached. 
When  the  cholera  was  at  its  height  in  Cincinnati, 
the  writer  of  this  dwelt  in  Front  Street  below  Elm, 


346   LATE  CHARLES  HAMMOND,  OF  CINCINNATI. 

and  one  of  the  inmates  of  the  family  being  pros- 
trated by  the  scourge,  he  was  sitting  at  his  door 
about  twelve  o'clock  one  night,  anxiously  looking 
out  for  the  doctor.  At  this  time  Mr.  Hammond 
came  up  from  the  lower  part  of  the  street,  and 
asked  after  the  sick  person.  After  answering,  as 
the  writer  had  seen  him  pass  by  before,  and  never 
knew  him  to  do  so  except  during  the  cholera,  he 
inquired  what  brought  him  down  there  in  what  was 
called  the  most  infected  part  of  the  city.  "  Why," 
said  he,  "there  is  an  old  man  down  here  whose 
father  I  knew ;  he  was  a  great  Indian  fighter ;  I 
have  got  a  person  to  nurse  him,  and  I  step  round 
occasionally  to  see  that  he  does  his  duty."  A 
hundred  anecdotes  like  this  could  be  told  of  him. 

The  late  venerable  Matthew  Carey  observed  to 
the  writer,  and  he  was  certainly  a  judge  of  men, 
that  he  considered  Mr.  Hammond  not  only  one  of 
the  ablest,  but  one  of  the  most  philanthropic  men 
he  had  ever  known. 

Mr.  Hammond's  integrity  was  stainless.  He 
would  not  have  compromised  the  independence  of 
his  character  for  any  earthly  consideration.  His 
editorial  career  proves  this.  If  ever  to  a  man  the 
phrase  of  the  poet  could  be  applied — 

"  He  would  not  flatter  Neptune  for  his  trident, 
Or  Jove  for  his  power  to  thunder," 

it  was  to  Mr.  Hammond.     Of  servility  and  time- 


347 

serving,  he  had  a  hatred  that  amounted  to  abhor- 
rence. When  it  became  necessary,  in  his  opinion, 
to  comment  upon  the  public  conduct  of  any  man, 
or  any  set  of  men,  Mr.  Hammond  never  asked 
himself  what  injury  he  or  they  could  do  him ;  his 
inquiry  was,  what  injury  has  been  done  to  others, 
and  why  was  it  done  ?  To  the  last  he  felt  a  deep 
interest,  not  only  in  our  general,  but  in  State  and 
city  politics,  and  so  expressed  himself. 

In  politics,  he  was  what  is  called  a  Federalist  of 
the  old  school,  what  demagogues  are  fond  of  calling 
an  aristocrat;  but  there  was  no  aristocracy  in  Mr. 
Hammond,  saving  that  of  personal  independence. 
He  loved  to  live  plainly.  His  wants  were  few.  He 
seemed  only  to  value  money  as  far  as  it  enabled  him 
to  assist  others.  The  glare  of  fashion  he  despised. 
He,  who  was  called  by  certain  politicians  the  aris- 
tocrat, was  seen  on  the  most  familiar  terms  with  his 
humblest  neighbors,  with  whom  he  delighted  to 
converse,  while  he  was  too  apt  to  cut  short  a 
colloquy  with  those  who  held  themselves  enti- 
tled to  his  consideration.  "Wealthy  pretension, 
without  merit,  he  frowned  down  if  it  but  glanced 
dictation,  or  passed  it  by  with  cold  indifference. 
For  meanness  he  had  a  loathing ;  while  the  gener- 
ous action  or  the  noble  sentiment  brought  the  tear 
to  his  manly  eye.  Often,  when  attempting  to  nar- 
rate an  affecting  incident,  his  feelings  would  choke 
his  utterance,  and  he  would  change  the  subject. 


348   LATE  CHARLES  HAMMOND,  OF  CINCINNATI. 

For  religion  he  had  a  profound  respect,  and  always 
so  expressed  himself. 

Mr.  Hammond  had  his  frailties ;  but  it  is  not  for 
the  writer  of  this  notice  to  dwell  upon  them.  It 
was  said  of  the  Roman  Cato,  that  he  "  sometimes 
warmed  his  patriotism  with  wine,"  and  that  was 
the  "  head  and  front"  of  Mr.  Hammond's  offending, 
and  no  more. 

Almost  the  first  hand  which  greeted  the  writer 
when  he  landed,  a  stranger  in  Cincinnati,  was  that 
which  is  now  cold  in  death ;  from  that  hour  until 
the  last  it  always  was  extended  to  him  in  kindness. 
He  feels  as  if  one  of  the  great  sources  of  his  pride, 
gratification,  and  instruction,  was  dried  up,  and  is 
ready  to  exclaim  with  Fisher  Ames  over  the  bier 
of  Alexander  Hamilton :  "  Penetrated  with  the 
fond  recollections  of  the  man,  my  heart  grows  liquid 
while  I  write,  and  I  could  pour  it  out  like  water." 

A  few  days  before  his  death  he  requested  to  be 
buried  without  any  pomp,  and  that  a  plain  slab, 
bearing  his  name  and  the  date  of  his  birth  and 
death,  should  be  placed  over  him. 

His  monument  is  in  the  memory  of  the  philan- 
thropic, the  intelligent,  and  the  good,  and  in  those 
hearts  round  his  hearth,  who  have  garnered  up  so 
many  affectionate  memorials  of  him,  and  who  cherish 
his  virtues  and  practise  them. 


CHANGES   IN   OUR   CITIES. 

SUMMERFIELD  PREACHING  TO  THE  CHILDREN, 

ETC. 


On  one  who  has  sojourned  occasionally  in  the 
different  cities  of  our  Union,  at  different  times, 
their  various  and  changeful  physiognomies  (so  to 
speak)  must  have  made  an  impression.  Cincinnati, 
for  instance,  changes  much  more  than  Baltimore. 
On  returning  to  Cincinnati,  after  a  five  years'  ab- 
sence, one  is  more  struck  with  the  changes  and 
improvements  than  he  is  in  Baltimore  after  fifteen 
years'  absence.  Yet  Baltimore  has  improved  as 
rapidly  as  any  city  on  the  Atlantic  border,  with, 
perhaps,  the  exception  of  New  York.  "  Well,  how 
does  Cincinnati  look  to  you?"  asked  a  friend  of 
ours,  on  a  return  there,  after  a  five  years'  absence 
in  Washington.  "Up  to  Seventh  street,"  we  re- 
plied, "like  an  old  friend  with  a  new  coat  on  ;  be- 
yond that  like  a  perfect  stranger."  And  so  it  is. 
30 


350  CHANGES  IN  OUR  CITIES. 

Almost  all  that  portion  of  Cincinnati  called 
"Texas"  has  grown  up  in  that  time;  crowded 
streets,  where  I  saw  nothing  when  I  left  it  but 
cow-paths  over  the  common.  Walk  even  down 
Main  street,  and  almost  all  the  signs  that  the 
business  houses  knew  a  few  years  ago  are  broken 
clown  and  broken  up,  like  the  firms  they  proclaimed. 
So  with  the  private  residences,  as  many  a  northern 
or  southern  sojourner  who  has  been  entertained 
there  finds  out. 

In  Baltimore,  particularly  in  the  heart  of  the 
city,  one  finds  things  pretty  much  as  he  left  them. 
We  pass  down  Calvert  street,  for  instance,  and 
there  is  Balderston's  wire  establishment,  which 
has  been  there  to  us  time  out  of  mind  ;  and  there  is 
the  Mechanical  engine-house  in  the  old  place,  and 
a  large  flagstone  in  the  pavement  tells  us  it  was 
founded  in  1763.  What  was  Cincinnati  then?  We 
have  talked  with  Simon  Kenton,  "  the  last  of  the 
pioneers,"  who  was  taken  prisoner  by  the  Indians 
in  the  wilderness  where  Cincinnati  now  stands.  In 
New  Orleans  and  St.  Louis,  how  fast  all  traces  of 
the  French  population  are  fading  away !  Boston 
and  Philadelphia  hold  a  good  deal  of  their  old 
look,  we  mean  of  fifteen  years  ago,  for  that  is  old 
in  our  calendar ;  while  Charleston  has  not  changed 
much  since  our  childhood,  and  we  are  now  of  a 
"certain  age."  In  Baltimore,  the  population  has 
a  oneness,  an  identity  of  appearance,  different  from 


CHANGES  IN  OUR  CITIES.  351 

that  of  Cincinnati.  Beyond  the  court-house,  in 
the  Queen  City,  you  hear  more  of  the  German  lan- 
guage, particularly  on  Sunday,  than  of  your  own, 
from  the  passers  by  in  the  streets.  Their  very 
clothes  you  see  'were  made  in  the  old  country,  and 
scores  of  them  have  just  arrived.  Their  friends, 
who  are  walking  beside  them,  and  pointing  out  dif- 
ferent objects  with  great  volubility,  as  you  can  see 
and  hear,  have  been  here  only  a  little  while  before 
them,  as  some  portion  of  their  habiliments,  which  are 
Americanized,  show.  In  fact,  the  German  popula- 
tion have  that  part  of  Cincinnati  almost  entirely  to 
themselves.  In  Louisville,  you  see  comparatively 
few  foreigners.  It  has  the  look  of  Baltimore. 
Louisville,  in  population  and  character,  resembles 
Baltimore.  In  Baltimore,  however,  there  are  fewer 
dandies — I  mean,  fashionable  young  men ;  young 
men  who  seem  to  have  nothing  to  do  but  to  dress 
themselves  foppishly,  and  idle  about — than  in  any 
other  of  our  large  cities.  This  impression  has  fre- 
quently occurred  to  us ;  and  while  the  Baltimore 
women  are  remarkable  for  their  beauty,  the  men 
certainly  are  not  remarkable  for  their  personal  ap- 
pearance. 

We  believe  that  there  is  more  social  equality  in 
Baltimore  than  in  any  other  large  city  in  the 
Union.  The  mechanic  here  stands  higher,  and  he 
is  more  conscious  of  the  fact.  Many  of  the  highest 
public  offices  here  are  filled  by  mechanics.     As  a 


352  CHANGES  IN  OUR  CITIES. 

class,  here,  they  are  very  intelligent,  and  very  in- 
dependent in  their  bearing ;  none  more  so.  One 
is  struck,  too,  with  the  prevalence  of  Methodism 
in  Baltimore.  Methodism  thrives  better  in  the 
South  than  in  the  North.  Its  warm  and  trust- 
ing faith,  so  full  of  sunshine  and  hope,  suits  this 
meridian,  and  is  compatible  with  the  comparative 
equality  which  prevails  here. 

You  do  not  see  so  many  negroes  in  the  streets  as 
formerly,  and  there  are  not  so  many  of  them  slaves. 
We  have  not  looked  at  the  census  to  test  this  fact; 
but  to  the  eye  it  certainly  appears  so.  If  Balti- 
more has  not  her  public  squares,  like  Philadelphia, 
filled  with  trees,  she  has  her  Monument  Squares 
and  her  City  Springs,  in  all  of  which  Cincinnati  is 
so  wofully  deficient.  The  only  thing  like  a  public 
square  in  Cincinnati  is  in  Eighth  street,  if  we  re- 
member rightly;  and  there  half  the  time,  in  fine 
weather,  the  inhabitants  round  about  are  kicking 
up  a  dust  in  the  way  of  cleaning  their  carpets. 
The  dwellings  in  Cincinnati  are  extremely  neat, 
and  you  see  at  once  that  white  labor  has  hafl  the 
care  of  them. 

Recurring  to  Methodism.  We  go  sometimes  to 
the  Light  street  Methodist  Church,  whither  we 
were  frequently  led,  in  our  boyhood,  by  our  good 
old  maiden  aunt,  and  where,  too,  now  we  are  met 
by  the  spirit  of  improvement,  at  least  in  the  better 
arrangement  of  the  church,  if  not  in  the  spirit  of 


CHANGES  IN  OUR  CITIES.  353 

the  worshippers.  The  old  "  bird-nest  pulpit"  is 
removed,  and  a  more  modern  and  roomy  one  sub- 
stituted. And,  by-the-by,  it  has  often  occurred  to 
us  that  those  "bird-nest  pulpits,"  as  somebody 
calls  them,  of  the  olden  time,  must  have  been  great 
foes  to  the  display  of  eloquence.  Perched  away  off 
from  the  worshippers,  the  preacher  must  have  felt 
himself  with  them,  but  not  of  them ;  his  nearness 
to  his  congregation  must  have  been  lessened  in 
them.  We  do  not  wonder  that  Whitefield  preferred 
preaching  in  the  open  air,  with  the  "  heavens  for  a 
sounding-board,"  as  he  said.  With  all  his  powers, 
he  must  have  felt  himself  cramped  in  one  of  those 
pulpits,  with  the  sounding-board,  looking  like  an 
extinguisher,  raised  over  his  head.  "  Mother,  why 
don't  they  let  that  poor  man  out?"  said  a  little 
child  to  his  mother,  who  had  taken  him  for  the 
first  time  to  a  church  in  which  there  was  one  of 
those  "  bird-nest  pulpits, "  where  the  urchin 
thought  the  preacher  was  caged,  and,  by  his  eager 
gesticulations,  in  the  situation  of  Sterne's  starling. 

Light  street  meeting-house  used  to  be  filled  on 
occasion  of  worship,  and  we  shall  never  forget  our 
good  aunt  taking  us  there  when  a  child,  to  hear 
Mr.  Summerfield  preach  to  the  children.  That 
saintly  apostolic  pale  face  is  before  us  now,  after 
the  lapse  of  many  years. 

The  body  of  the  church  was  crowded  with  child- 
ren, of  which  crowd  we  formed  one.  We  noticed, 
30* 


354  CHANGES  m  OUR  CITIES. 

even  then,  that  not  a  girl  played  with  her  neigh- 
bor's ribbon,  or  her  own ;  and  that  the  boys 
entirely  forgot  their  mischief,  and  were  won  from 
their  general  listless  indifference  in  church,  while 
all  gazed  into  the  face  of  the  preacher  with  deep 
earnestness.  One  of  his  remarks  we  shall  never 
forget.  It  was  something  in  this  wise  :  "  Little 
children,"  he  said,  "if  you  were  away  from  home, 
and  your  parents — -your  father  or  mother— should 
write  to  you,  how  eagerly  you  would  open  that 
wished-for  letter,  would  you  not  ?  And  how  eagerly 
you  would  read  every  line  of  it,  and  how  you  would 
treasure  their  admonitions,  their  good  advice,  in 
your  memory  !  You  would  resolve  to  do  what  they 
wished  you  to  do— just  what  they  desired.  That 
you  would  resolve  should  be  your  steady  aim,  and 
again  and  again  you  would  unfold  that  letter  in 
some  quiet  room,  or  when  you  were  apart  from 
your  playmates,  and  read  and  reread  it  to  your- 
selves, that  you  might  know  it  all  by  heart,  and  do 
just  as  they  bid  you.  You  would  remember  how 
that  dear  parent  loved  you,  how  much  trouble  and 
anxiety  he  had  felt  when  you  were  ill,  and  how 
affectionately  he  had  watched  over  you  !  Yes,  you 
would  think  of  all  this,  I  know  you  would,  for  you 
look  like  good  children — and  you  are  here  in  church 
to-day,  and  this  is  another  proof  that  you  are  good 
children.  Yes,  you  would  think  so  much  of  that 
dear  letter.  Well,  little  children,  your  Father  who  is 


CHANGES  IN  OUR  CITIES.  355 

in  heaven,  your  Heavenly  Father,  has  sent  you  a 
letter  also,  and  here  it  is  in  the  shape  of  this  book 
which  I  hold  in  my  hand,  and  of  which  you  have 
all  heard — I  mean  the  Bible.  "  And  so  speaking, 
he  dwelt  upon  the  history  of  the  Bible  and  the 
character  of  our  Redeemer  to  the  children.  What 
we  remember  most  distinctly,  though,  is  that  pas- 
sage, and  such  a  manner !  Notwithstanding  the 
improvements  in  Light  street  Church,  which  my 
taste  could  not  but  admire,  we  own  we  longed  for 
the  old  appearance  of  things,  that  we  might  call 
up  the  more  vividly  the  spirit  of  that  eloquence, 
now  gone,  which  so  interested  and  charmed  our 
boyhood.  We  have  just  been  reading  Summer- 
field's  Sermons  and  Sketches  of  Sermons,  and  in 
so  doing  we  have  been  trying  to  recall  his  manner 
and  tones  as  he  stood  in  that  old  pulpit,  and  ac- 
count for  the  effect  which  he  produced  in  their 
delivery,  for  they  are  certainly  not  remarkable 
sermons  in  matter,  and  we  can  in  a  measure  realize 
their  effect.  But  it  requires  one,  in  doing  so,  to 
keep  constantly  in  the  "mind's  eye"  the  living, 
breathing  utterer  of  them,  to  their  very  interjec- 
tions. 

Baltimore  is  called  the  Monumental  City.  It 
might  also  be  called  the  City  of  Societies.  For 
scarcely  a  day  passes  that  some  one  of  these  nu- 
merous bodies  do  not  turn  out,  often,  alas,  to  bury 
their  dead.    But  in  a  country  like  ours,  such  socie- 


356  CHANGES  IN  OUR  CITIES. 

ties  (for  they  are  almost  all  of  them  of  a  benevo- 
lent character)  do  incalculable  good  in  the  examples 
which  they  set  of  temperance  and  philanthropy. 
And  as  man  is  a  social  being,  these  associations 
bring  men  together  without  the  need  of  their  re- 
sorting to  the  bar-room,  or  the  theatre,  to  gratify 
a  questionable  sociability  and  love  of  excitement. 
There  is  one  kind  of  association,  however,  though, 
may-be,  the  most  useful  of  all  in  our  cities,  which 
is,  nevertheless,  the  source  of  a  great  many  out- 
rages. We  allude  to  the  different  fire  companies. 
Proverbially,  Philadelphia  is  the  city  of  brotherly 
love  (on  paper),  and  of  firemen's  most  unbrotherly 
riots  in  fact.  They  arise  in  the  first  place  from 
emulation  among  the  firemen,  but  they  end,  like 
emulation  in  many  other  places,  too  often  in  strife, 
bloodshed,  and  murder. 

How  often  do  we  hear  that  a  fire  company 
was  outrageously  assaulted,  in  returning  peaceably 
from  a  fire  where  they  did  good  service,  when  it 
is  shrewdly  suspected  that  the  assaulters  were 
members  of  another  company,  or  worse,  that  the 
alarm  was  raised  that  they  might  meet,  and 
fight.  These  matters  are  a  disgrace  to  a  civil- 
ized community,  and  there  seems  no  likelihood 
of  an  end  being  put  to  such  proceedings.  It 
strikes  us  that  it  would  be  well  if  none  but  ap- 
pointed and  paid  firemen,  selected  by  the  authori- 
ties, were  allowed  to  act  as  firemen ;  or   it  would 


CHANGES  IN  OUR  CITIES.  357 

be  well  to  make  all  firemen  give  bonds  for  their 
peaceable  behavior  at  fires,  if  such  a  thing  were 
practicable.  Even  Washington  City  was  once  (we 
do  not  know  how  it  is  now-a-days)  subject  to  such 
disturbances.  We  remember,  more  than  once,  to 
have  made  our  escape  in  at  Fuller's  (now  Willard's) 
window,  to  get  out  of  the  range  of  brickbats, 
which  one  fire  company  was  hurling  at  another. 
Give  us  any  law  but  mob  law,  say  we,  and  almost 
any  kind  of  riots  rather  than  those  which  spring 
up  between  such  a  useful  class  of  citizens  as  that 
of  which  our  different  fire  companies  are  composed. 
To  see  firemen  destroying  each  other's  engines, 
and  taking  each  other's  lives,  while  a  fire  is  raging, 
is  about  as  bad  as  Nero's  fiddling  while  Rome  was 
burning. 


SHOBAL  VAIL  CLEVENGER,* 

THE  SCULPTOR. 


The  Queen  City  of  the  West  may  indeed  be  proud 
of  her  arts,  and  her  artists.  Powers,  Beard,  Frank- 
enstein, Powell,  Clevenger,  will  give  her  a  reputa- 
tion, we  believe,  which  will  be  honored  wherever 
the  arts  are  cultivated.  Many  of  their  productions 
already  grace  the  halls  of  her  citizens,  where  the 
travelling  stranger,  in  partaking  of  their  hospi- 
tality, often  gazes  in  wonder  on  their  works,  which 
he  pronounces  to  exhibit  a  genius  kindred  to  that 
which  guided  the  pencil  and  the  chisel  of  the  masters 
of  the  olden  time. 

Situated  so  beautifully  by  the  "beautiful  river," 
Cincinnati,  as  if  conscious  of  her  advantages,  al- 
ready displays  an  architectural  elegance,  which  is 

*  This  sketch  was  written  some  time  ago,  when  Cleven- 
ger was  living,  and  was  just  about  to  depart  for  Europe. 
Poor  fellow !  while  returning,  he  died  at  sea. 


SIIOBAL  VAIL  CLEVENGEE,  THE  SCULPTOR.    359 

not  surpassed  by  any  city  in  the  Union.  She  now 
numbers  fifty  thousand  inhabitants ;  yet  there  are 
many  who  well  remember  when  the  glancing  river 
rolled  on  unshadowed  by  anything  that  denoted 
civilization.  In  patronizing  her  artists,  her  citizens 
will  not  only  reward  merit,  but  cultivate  their  taste, 
and  thus,  adding  the  graces  of  ornament  to  the  beau- 
ties of  situation,  will  crown  the  queen  with  an  en- 
during magnificence. 

Clevenger  is  a  "born  Buckeye."  Middletown, 
a  small  village  in  the  interior  of  Ohio,  is  the  place 
of  his  birth.  He  was  born  in  1812.  His  father  is 
by  trade  a  weaver,  and  Shobal  is  the  third  child  of 
a  family  of  ten.  His  parents  are  still  living  to 
rejoice  in  the  rising  reputation  of  their  son.  A 
year  after  the  birth  of  Shobal,  his  parents  moved 
to  Eidgeville,  and  afterwards  to  Indian  Creek.  At 
the  age  of  fifteen,  Shobal  left  his  parents,  and  went 
with  his  brother  to  Centerville,  to  learn,  under  his 
direction,  the  art  of  stonecutting,  in  which  employ- 
ment his  brother  was  engaged  on  the  canal.  It 
was  indeed  fortunate  for  the  future  sculptor,  that 
he  thus  early  learned  the  use  of  the  chisel,  and  it 
accounts  for  the  accuracy  and  tact  with  which  he 
handles  it. 

On  the  canal,  the  future  artist,  at  his  humble 
occupation,  caught  the  ague  and  fever,  and  was  com- 
pelled to  return  home.  As  soon  as  he  recovered, 
he  went  to  Louisville,  from  which,  after  being  en- 


360    SHOBAL  VAIL  CLEVENGER,  THE  SCULPTOR. 

gaged  for  a  short  time,  he  came  to  Cincinnati,  and 
stipulated  to  remain  with  Mr.  Guiou,  a  stonecutter, 
for  the  purpose  of  learning  the  trade.  While  he 
was  with  Mr.  Guiou,  an  order,  among  others,  came 
to  the  establishment  for  a  tombstone,  which  was  to 
have  a  seraph's  head  chiselled  upon  it.  Mr.  Guiou 
undertook  the  task  himself,  and  formed  the  figure, 
which  Clevenger  criticised.  His  master  said,  satiri- 
cally, "  You  shall  do  the  next."  This  remark  galled 
Clevenger,  and  he  determined  to  try.  The  next 
day  was  Sunday,  and  instead  of  enjoying  its  recrea- 
tion, he  repaired  to  the  shop  and  busied  himself 
all  day  in  producing  a  seraph's  head.  On  Monday, 
when  his  fellow-workmen  saw  it,  they  pronounced 
it  better  than  Mr.  Guiou's.  This,  as  may  be  sup- 
posed, gave  great  pleasure  to  the  youthful  aspirant, 
and  inflamed  his  ambition.  He  used  to  visit  the 
graveyard  on  the  moonlight  nights,  and  take  casts 
from  the  tombstones,  particularly  from  those  sculp- 
tured by  an  English  artist,  which  are  thought  to 
be  very  good.  Mr.  Guiou  now  gave  Clevenger  all 
the  ornamental  jobs  to  do,  which  sometimes  pro- 
voked the  ill-humor  of  his  fellows,  as  was  to  be 
expected,  but  the  amiability  of  the  artist  and  his 
acknowledged  skill  soon  reconciled  them  to  the 
justice  of  the  preference. 

Soon  after  Clevenger's  time  expired  with  Mr. 
Guiou,  he  married  Miss  Elizabeth  Wright,  of  Cin- 
cinnati, and  repaired  to  Xenia,  an  inland  town  of 


SHOBAL  VAIL  CLEVENGER,  TnE  SCULPTOR.    361 

Ohio,  where  he  commenced  business.  Meeting  with 
poor  encouragement  there,  he  returned  to  Cincin- 
nati and  worked  as  a  journeyman  for  his  former 
master,  but  shortly  after  entered  into  partnership 
with  Mr.  Basset,  and  they  established  themselves 
in  a  little  shop  on  the  corner  of  Seventh  and 
Race  streets. 

It  was  this  shop  that  Mr.  E.  S.  Thomas,  the 
editor  of  the  "  Evening  Post,"  chanced  to  enter 
one  day,  attracted,  as  he  glanced  in,  by  the  figure 
of  a  cherub,  which  Clevenger  was  carving.  Mr. 
Thomas,  who  has  a  fondness  for  such  things,  and 
who  has  had  an  opportunity  of  seeing  the  best 
statuary  of  Europe,  was  instantly  impressed  with 
the  genius  of  Clevenger,  and  warmly  told  him  that 
he  had  great  talents  in  the  art.  The  next  day 
Mr.  Thomas  noticed  Clevenger  in  his  paper,  and 
expressed  firmly  his  conviction  that  his  genius  was 
of  the  first  order,  and  that,  if  encouraged,  he  would 
be  eminent. 

Powers,  the  sculptor,  who  is  now  in  Florence, 
pursuing  his  art,  and  who  will  shed  fame  on  the 
Queen  City,  was  then  in  Washington,  where  he  had 
modelled  the  heads  of  some  of  our  leading  states- 
men, with  an  accuracy  and  talent  that  were  winning 
universal  commendation.  Clevenger,  still  at  his 
stonecutting,  understood  that  Powers  was  about 
to  return  to  Cincinnati,  and  bring  with  him  his 
clay  model  of  Chief-Justice  Marshall,  from  which 
31 


362    SHOBAL  VAIL  CLEVENGER,  THE  SCULPTOR. 

he  meant  to  take  a  bust  in  stone.  On  hearing  this, 
the  youthful  aspirant  said,  to  use  his  own  expres- 
sion, that  he  "  would  cut  the  first  bust  from  stone 
in  Cincinnati,  if  he  couldn't  cut  the  best !"  He 
accordingly  forthwith  procured  the  material — the 
rough  block  of  stone — and  asked  Mr.  Thomas  to  sit 
to  him.  Mr.  Thomas  did  so,  and  from  the  rude 
block,  without  moulding  any  model  previously  in 
clay,  with  the  living  form  before  him,  and  with 
chisel  in  hand,  in  his  little  shop,  the  young  artist 
went  fearlessly  to  work;  and,  without  having  seen 
anything  of  sculpture  but  the  memorials  of  the 
dead  in  a  western  graveyard,  casts  from  which 
he  had  taken  by  moonlight,  unaided,  by  the 
inspirations  solely  of  genius,  he  struck  out  a  like- 
ness that  wants  but  the  Promethean  heat  to  make 
it  in  all  respects  the  counterpart  of  the  veteran 
editor. 

This  bust  was  executed  about  three  years  ago. 
The  press  of  the  city  spoke  in  just  terms  of  praise 
of  the  performer.  Patronage  followed.  Many  of 
the  wealthiest  citizens  had  their  busts  taken,  and 
the  accuracy  of  each  successive  one  seemed  to 
strike  more  and  more.  The  artist's  shop — now 
dignified  with  the  name  of  studio — attracted  the 
attention  of  all  classes  of  the  citizens.  There  the 
visitor  might  behold  him  eagerly  at  work,  appa- 
rently unconscious  of  the  attention  he  attracted ; 
his  fine  clear  eye  lighting  with  a  flash  upon  the 


THE  SCULPTOR.    363 

model,  and  then  upon  the  stone,  from  which,  with 
consummate  skill,  he  would  strike  the  incumbrance 
which  seemed  to  obscure  from  other  eyes  (not  his 
own),  the  form  which  he  saw  existing  in  the  marble. 

Clevenger  is  now  in  Boston,  where  he  has 
moulded  a  bust  of  Mr.  Webster,  said  universally 
to  be  the  best  likeness  ever  taken  of  the  great 
lawyer.  Among  his  best  efforts  are  said  to  be  his 
busts  of  Messrs.  Biddle,  Clay,  Van  Buren,  and 
Poindexter.  The  visitor  stands  in  his  studio,  and 
gazes  at  the  models,  even  of  those  he  has  not  seen, 
with  the  conviction  that  they  must  be  likenesses — 
there  is  ever  something  so  lifelike  about  them. 

This  spring  Clevenger  goes  to  Italy,  for  the 
purpose  of  studying  the  masterpieces  of  his  art, 
'mid  the  scenes  where  they  were  fashioned.  We 
can  sympathize  with  the  deep  devotion  with  which 
he  will  gaze  on  the  glories  of  his  craft,  and  call  up 
the  memories  of  the  mighty  masters  of  old  upon 
the  very  spot  where  they  bent,  chisel  in  hand,  over 
the  marble,  and  almost  realized,  without  the  aid  of 
the  gods,  the  fable  of  Pygmalion.  While  he  is 
over  the  waters,  in  that  classic  land,  we  shall  send 
glad  greetings  to  our  bold  Buckeye,  and  bid  him 
not  despair.  Let  him  assist  to  make  his  land 
classic  too — what  man  has  done,  man  may  do. 


POWELL,   THE   ARTIST. 

PICTURES  IN  THE  ROTUNDA  IN  WASHINGTON- 
STATUARY  IN  WASHINGTON. 


Some  fifteen  or  more  years  ago,  a  stranger  in 
Cincinnati,  if  he  had  turned  from  Main  street  into 
Fourth  street,  south,  might  have  observed,  three 
or  four  doors  from  the  corner  of  Main,  a  bonnet, 
and  some  little  articles  of  millinery  in  the  window, 
and  passed  on — nothing  conveying  to  him  the  im- 
pression that  anybody  belonging  to  the  race  of 
artists  harbored  there.  Yet,  had  he  opened  that 
humble  door,  he  would  have  discovered  a  delicate 
boy-artist  at  his  easel,  laboring  away  so  intensely 
as  at  first  not  to  be  aware  of  his  entrance. 

When  made  aware  of  it,  the  visitor  would  have 
been  struck  with  the  manly  countenance  of  that 
diminutive  youth,  and  his  pleasant  tone  and  his 
engaging  manners.  If  he  were  an  observer  of 
countenances,  the  well-developed  forehead  of  one 
so  young,  and  his  clear  and  animated  blue  eye, 


365 

would  have  attracted  his  notice.  Perhaps  he  would 
have  found  the  artist  engaged  in  finishing  the  like- 
ness of  Mr.  Longworth,  a  wealthy  gentleman  of 
Cincinnati,  who  has  encouraged  several  young  ar- 
tists in  their  first  attempts — artists  who  have  since 
become  distinguished. 

The  name  of  this  youth — boy-artist  we  might 
call  him — is  William  Henry  Powell,  who  is  now 
abroad,  putting  the  finishing  touches  on  his  pic- 
ture of  "  The  Discovery  of  the  Mississippi  by  De 
Soto,  in  1542."  In  this  house,  his  mother  and  sis- 
ter carried  on  a  little  millinery  establishment,  up 
stairs.  The  window  designated  their  locality, 
while  that  of  the  youthful  artist  needed  no  indica- 
tion, as  there  were  none  except  his  personal  friends 
and  admirers  who  sought  for  it,  as  he  had  not  yet 
become  an  artist  by  profession,  and  was,  in  fact,  a 
boy. 

Soon,  however,  his  pictures  were  talked  about, 
and  the  press  noticed  him  ;  and  in  the  progress  of 
events,  and  in  the  development  of  his  genius  and 
resources,  he  was  enabled  to  go  to  the  East,  and 
subsequently  to  Europe. 

When  the  choice  came  to  be  made  as  to  who 
should  paint  the  picture  for  the  last  unoccupied 
panel  in  the  rotunda,  he  was  selected,  through  the 
influence  of  the  western  members  of  Congress. 

This  picture  is  spoken  of  in  the  highest  terms — 
31* 


366  POWELL,  THE  ARTIST. 

and  these  high  terms  come  to  us  with  such  indorse- 
ments as  to  satisfy  us  that  they  are  not  the  mere 
eulogy  of  friends.  Mr.  Bryan,  of  Philadelphia,  a 
connoisseur  in  such  matters,  who  has  a  large  collec- 
tion of  pictures,  speaks  of  it  with  high  praise,  and 
so  has  Count  D'Orsay.  De  Soto  is  the  chief  figure, 
and  there  are  many  others  prominent  on  the  can- 
vas— we  fear  too  many,  from  what  is  said  of  the 
picture.  The  Indian  figures  on  the  canvas  con- 
trast strikingly,  in  their  wild  costume,  with  the 
steel-clad  warriors  of  De  Soto  ;  and  the  priests, 
planting  a  cross  as  the  sign  of  possession,  furnish 
another  contrast.  There  is  a  figure  of  a  horse  in 
the  picture,  which  is  said  to  be  excellent. 

We  rejoice  in  the  success  of  Mr.  Powell.  To 
say  the  truth,  the  pictures  in  the  Rotunda  are  not 
remarkable  for  excellence.  That  of  "  The  Pil- 
grims," by  Wier,  is  the  best.  "  The  Baptism  of 
Pocahontas"  has  very  little  merit.  And  that  of 
the  "  Signers  of  the  Declaration  of  Independence," 
from  the  various  exhibitions  of  legs  in  it,  was  justly 
called  by  John  Randolph  the  "shin-piece." 

But  everything  must  have  a  beginning,  and  we 
like  this  encouragement  of  our  American  artists; 
and  we  have  no  doubt  that  Mr.  Powell's  picture 
will  do  him  great  credit,  and  reflect  honor  upon 
the  Great  West,  which  has  already  given  Powers 
to  the  world  of  Art. 


POWELL,  THE  ARTIST.  867 

The  best  piece  of  statuary  in  Washington  is  the 
full-length  bronze  statue  of  Mr.  Jefferson,  in  front 
of  the  White  House.  There  stands  the  illustrious 
author  of  the  Declaration  of  Independence,  with 
the  Declaration  in  his  hand,  attired  in  the  style  of 
dress  worn  when  he  presented  it  to  the  American 
Congress.  We  feel  at  once  the  individuality  of 
the  representation  when  we  look  upon  it,  and  we 
recognize  Thomas  Jefferson.  Pass  from  the  White 
House  to  the  Capitol,  and  look  at  Greenongh's 
statue  of  Washington,  disguised,  as  far  as  the  form 
is  covered,  in  that  outlandish  drapery,  and  we  ven- 
ture to  say  that  unless  one  was  told  that  it  repre- 
sented Washington,  it  would  be  a  long  time  before 
the  guess  was  made,  unless  by  chance.  The  face 
of  the  statue  has  the  Washington  look,  but  the 
drapery,  style  of  the  figure,  &c,  take  the  mind 
away  from  the  Father  of  his  country.  We  saw  in 
the  Patent  Office  the  very  clothes  that  General 
Washington  wore,  and  we  look  at  the  statue  and 
at  once  feel  how  unlike  him  it  looks.  Fancy 
General  Washington  sitting  to  a  Daguerreotypist 
and  arraying  himself  in  a  Roman  toga  for  the  oc- 
casion. A  statue  should  be  as  much  as  possible  a 
Daguerreotype  of  the  man. 

" Paint  me  as  I  am — warts  and  all,"  said  Crom- 
well to  the  artist,  u  or  I  will  not  pay  you  for  the 
picture."  The  bluff  and  bold  Protector  showed 
what  was  the  artist's  duty  in  this  remark.     If  the 


888  POWELL,  THE  ARTIST. 

artist  is  painting  a  Venus,  he  takes  ideal  beauty ; 
but  when  he  is  painting  a  man,  he  should  give  us 
humanity.  In  this  consists  the  power  of  Thorn's 
celebrated  Tarn  O'Shanter  group.  Human  cha- 
racter is  there,  in  the  listener's  pausing  in  the  act 
of  rising  to  listen  to  the  story,  and  in  the  turned-in 
toes  of  Souter  Johnny. 

Lamartine  says  that  Robespierre  always  pre- 
sented himself  to  his  countrymen  in  the  same  color 
and  style  of  dress,  and  always  had  his  pictures 
taken  and  busts  modelled  in  the  same  fashion. 
"  The  man  of  the  People"  did  not  wish  the  iden- 
tity of  his  appearance  changed  in  the  eyes  of  the 
people.  There  he  was,  the  "incorruptible"  and 
the  unchanged.  Like  Cromwell,  the  Frenchman 
showed  not  only  his  taste,  but  his  knowledge  of 
human  nature.  Furthermore,  "  the  little  cor- 
poral" would  strike  a  French  soldier  much  more 
in  his  cocked  hat  and  coat  buttoned  across  the 
breast  than  in  his  coronation  robes.  The  char- 
latanism in  Napoleon's  nature  (and  he  had  a 
great  deal  of  it)  never  struck  us  more  than  when 
looking  at  the  picture  which  represents  his  coro- 
nation. 

Much  praise  is  due  to  Mr.  Mills,  who  is  at  pre- 
sent engaged  on  the  equestrian  statue  of  General 
Jackson,  for  the  great  pains  he  has  taken  to 
represent  his  subject  just  as  he  appeared  in  na- 
ture.    In  this  model  the  erect,  energetic  self-will 


POWELL,  THE  ARTIST.  369 

of  General  Jackson  is  apparent,  and  there  is  no 
doubt  that  the  artist,  following  the  suggestions  of 
his  own  genius,  will  make  for  himself  a  reputation 
as  enduring  as  the  metal  from  which  he  is  to  mould 
his  lifelike  model. 


DEATH   OF   MR.   WEBSTER 

AN  ORIGINAL  LETTER  FROM  HIM. 


The  last  of  the  triumvirate  (composed  of  Cal- 
houn, Clay,  and  "Webster),  the  great  expounder  of 
the  constitution,  is  no  more.  Though  his  death 
has  just  occurred,  the  telegraphic  wires  have  trans- 
mitted the  sorrowful  fact  to  every  intelligent  mind 
in  the  Union. 

How  impressibly  the  lesson  strikes  us!  Calhoun 
— what  a  deep  pulsation  there  was  in  the  public 
heart  over  his  ashes  !  And  then,  again,  how  pro- 
found and  universal  the  sorrowing  for  Mr.  Clay  ! 
And  now,  the  last  of  the  immortal  three  has  de- 
parted ;  and  while  all  parties  lament  his  death,  the 
conviction  of  what  the  country  has  suffered  lately 
in  the  loss  of  her  greatest  citizens,  crowds  upon 
every  mind. 

Lord  Morpeth  has  said,  that  in  one  respect  at 
least  the  republican   experiment   has  failed,  and 


DEATH  OF  MR.  WEBSTER.  371 

that  is  in  the  fact  that  our  greatest  men  do  not 
reach  our  highest  office — the  Presidential  chair. 
Be  this  as  it  may,  it  does  seem  truly  singular  that 
neither  of  them  reached  it ;  though  they  were  all 
for  a  long  time  eager  aspirants  for  its  honors. 
This  is  a  subject  for  moral  as  well  as  for  political 
reflection,  and  may  well  exercise  the  judgments 
and  the  consciences  of  the  thoughtful  men  of  all 
creeds,  as  well  as  of  all  parties. 

In  intellect  Mr.  Webster  was  superior  to  either 
of  his  illustrious  rivals.  He  had  more  expansion 
of  mind  and  information,  perhaps,  than  Mr.  Cal- 
houn, and  much  greater  power  of  argumentation 
than  Mr.  Clay  ;  but  he  had  not  Mr.  Calhoun's  or 
Mr.  Clay's  quick  intuitive  readiness,  nor  would 
he  as  boldly  rush  into  responsibility,  but  when  he 
did  take  his  position,  what  he  said  of  himself  was 
true,  he  "  took  no  step  backwards."  He  could  not 
see  at  a  glance  results  like  Mr.  Clay,  nor  would 
he  defend  an  abstraction  like  Mr.  Calhoun  on  his 
own  resources  and  responsibility.  He  was  em- 
phatically the  "  great  expounder."  To  expound 
and  explain  a  great  political  truth  was  his  great 
power.  And  in  this  respect,  particularly  in  the 
exposition  of  constitutional  law,  he  was  without  a 
rival.  Wirt,  Clay,  Calhoun,  Pinkney,  of  Mary- 
land, even  Marshall  was  not  his  equal ;  for  to  the 
powers  of  the  greatest  of  these — Pinkney  and 
Marshall,  the  first  celebrated  for  his  intellectual 


372  DEATH  OF  MR.  WEBSTER. 

resources  on  a  constitutional  question,  and  the 
latter  for  his  judgment — he  added  a  transparent 
clearness  of  style  superior  to  either  of  them — an 
earnest,  and  at  the  same  time  poetic  diction,  at 
times  reminding  one  of  the  Bible. 

In  a  bad  cause,  he  was  not  calculated  to  be  suc- 
cessful. Many  a  county  court  lawyer  would  have 
won  from  him  the  ordinary  run  of  cases.  Truth 
looked  him  so  brightly  and  boldly  in  the  face,  that 
she  put  him  out  of  countenance  when  he  turned 
from  her  side.  But  by  her  side,  in  law  or  on  a 
constitutional  question,  all  opposition  paled  before 
him ;  as,  for  instance,  when,  on  the  question  of  Nul- 
lification, he  met  Mr.  Hayne  in  the  United  States 
Senate,  and  not  only  buried  that  question  on  the 
spot,  but  delivered,  in  our  opinion,  the  greatest 
speech,  intellectually,  recorded  in  the  English  lan- 
guage. 

The  profound  statesmanship  exhibited  by  Mr. 
Webster  in  the  Ashburton  treaty,  has  elicited  the 
praise  of  the  statesmen  of  the  Old  as  well  as  of  the 
New  World. 

As  we  contemplate  the  mighty  dead,  now  gone 
to  another  judgment  than  that  of  their  fellow-men, 
we  marvel  that  they  should  have  troubled  so  much 
themselves  and  others  with  aspirations  which  are 
mere  dust  and  ashes,  and  no  more.  We  wonder  that 
they  did  not  look  more  at  the  one  thing  needful. 
But  this  wonder  strikes  us  at  so  many  death-beds! 


DEATH  OF  MR.  WEBSTER.  373 

as  well  over  the  humblest,  as  over  those  for  whom 
the  tolling  bell,  the  muffled  drum,  and  the  funeral 
display,  proclaim  a  nation's  honor. 

It  is  a  gratification  to  know  that  Mr.  Webster's 
last  hours  were  cheered  by  the  presence  of  his 
family  and  friends  ;  and  that  he  died  calmly,  after 
an  earnest  prayer  to  Him  through  whose  interces- 
sion only  the  proudest  as  well  as  the  humblest  can 
be  saved. 

But  we  would  introduce,  we  trust  not  ungrace- 
fully, an  original  letter  upon  an  interesting  subject, 
from  Mr.  Webster.  The  letter  speaks  for  itself, 
and  was  handed  to  us  to  publish  if  we  wished.  It 
was  written  in  answer  to  an  invitation  from  Mr. 
F.  D.  Anderson  and  others  to  attend  a  celebration 
of  the  Temperance  cause,  in  Harford  County, 
Maryland.  The  motto  on  the  seal  is — "  Vera  pro 
gratis."     The  letter  is  here  first  published. 

Marshfield,  October  8,  1851. 

Gentlemen  :  It  is  a  matter  of  deep  regret  to  me,  that  I 
did  not  receive  your  kind  letter  of  the  9th  of  August  till  a 
very  late  day.  I  was  in  the  mountains  of  New  Hampshire, 
taking  a  breath  of  my  native  air,  and  it  was  the  last  of 
August  before  I  returned.  I  know  not  whether,  if  I  had 
received  your  communication  sooner,  it  would  have  been 
in  my  power  to  attend  the  meeting  to  which  I  was  invited, 
but  I  should  have  been  able  to  have  given  a  more  timely 
answer. 

There  can  be  no  question  that  the  Temperance  move- 
ment, in  the  United  States,  has  done  infinite  good.     The 


374  DEATH  OF  MR.  WEBSTER. 

moral  influence  of  the  Temperance  associations  has  been 
everywhere  felt,  and  always  with  beneficial  results.  In 
some  cases,  it  is  true,  the  Temperance  measures  have  been 
carried  to  excess,  where  they  have  invoked  legislative 
penalties,  and  sought  to  enforce  the  virtue  of  Temperance 
by  the  power  of  the  Law.  To  a  certain  extent,  this,  no 
doubt,  is  justifiable  and  useful;  but  it  is  the  moral  prin- 
ciple of  Temperance,  it  is  the  conscientious  duty  which  it 
teaches,  to  abstain  from  intoxicating  draughts,  such  as  are 
hurtful  both  to  mind  and  body,  which  are  the  great  agents 
for  the  reformation  of  manners  in  this  respect. 

Your  order  is  quite  right  in  connecting  benevolence  and 
charity  with  Temperance.  They  may  well  go  hand-in- 
hand.  He  whose  faculties  are  never  debauched  or  stupe- 
fied, whose  mind  is  always  active  and  alert,  and  who  prac- 
tises self-denial,  is  naturally  drawn  to  consider  the  deserv- 
ing objects  which  are  about  him,  that  may  be  poor,  or  sick, 
or  diseased. 

Love,  Purity,  and  Fidelity,  are  considered  Christian 
virtues;  and  I  hope  that  those  "banners"  which  bear 
these  words  for  their  motto  may  rise  higher  and  higher, 
and  float  more  and  more  widely  through  this  and  all  other 
countries. 

You  have  invited  me,  gentlemen,  if  I  could  attend  the 
meeting,  to  address  the  members  of  your  order  on  the 
great  subject  of  Union.  I  should  have  done  so  with  plea- 
sure, although  I  do  not  propose  to  continue  the  practice 
of  addressing  great  multitudes  of  men;  yet  I  could  not  have 
refused  to  have  expressed  my  opinions  on  the  great  topics 
of  the  day,  in  the  State  of  Maryland.  Out  of  the  abundance 
of  the  heart  the  mouth  speaketh. 

I  pray  you  to  be  assured,  gentlemen,  that  I  value  highly 
the  opinion  you  have  expressed  for  my  public  character 
and  conduct ;  and  I  indulge  the  hope  that  I  may  ere  long 
meet  some  of  you  in  the  city  where  my  public  duties  are 


DEATH  OF  MR.  WEBSTER.  375 

discharged  ;  and  most  of  all,  I  fervently  trust  that  you  and 
I,  and  your  children  and  my  children  will  remain  fellow- 
citizens  of  one  great  united  Republic,  so  long  as  society 
shall  exist  among  us.  "While  I  live,  every  effort  in  my 
power,  whether  made  in  public  or  in  private  life,  will  be 
devoted  to  the  promotion  of  that  great  end. 

I  am,  gentlemen,  very  respectfully,  your  obliged  friend 
and  fellow-citizen, 

DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


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